


I Don't Blame You for Being You (but you can't blame me for hating it)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek's Eyebrows, Everybody Lives, Hand Jobs, Injury Recovery, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Slightly Underage, Sterek Bingo 2017, The Pack Ships It, True Alpha Scott McCall, Werewolf Culture, alpha mates, consent issues talked about in a healthy way, derek has issues with consent, mentions of polyamory, sbWolfCulture, sbelnd, sbpackmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Derek hits Stiles with his Camaro -'Dammit, Stiles, it was anaccident!'...'Why don't I believe you?'and hilarity ensues.





	I Don't Blame You for Being You (but you can't blame me for hating it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tootsie2230](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsie2230/gifts).



> Okay, so last night I did my level best to post this. Tried for well over an hour and wound up in tears due to frustration with a failure on part of AO3's rich text input field. So, I can't be sure I tagged everything (since I tagged and retagged this fic more than a dozen times) but I did my best.
> 
> This is my seventh and final piece for the Sterek Bingo Month, and it's a fic I'm very fond of. I do hope everyone enjoys this (and all of the other pieces I wrote for the event).
> 
> Themes used:
> 
>  **Everybody Lives; Nobody Dies** \- Considering this fic had two whole packs to fit everyone in...yeah. I mean, the Hale fire still happened and those folks are dead, as is Laura, but I dismissed the deaths that happened after the on-screen start of the series, anyway. Except Kate...she's dead, lol.
> 
>  **Pack Mom Stiles** \- I could've claimed this for a few fics, but I opted to claim it here because Stiles' status as _pack mom_ is something that's openly discussed. His role in the pack is something that actually gets major screen time in this fic, explicitly talked about by Derek and Stiles, and I really enjoyed having it be more than a passing mention or something Stiles sort of falls into that gets joked about.
> 
>  **Werewolf Culture** \- I actually got to play with the culture behind Alphas and their mates, and choosing mates from another pack, and what roles the alpha's mate actually fills in a pack. I really got to delve into some of that in a lot more detail than I usually do, so that was really cool. Not quite on the level of Stiles getting to hang out at a Supernatural Convention to learn about werewolves, but not to shabby. And who knows? I might write a convention!fic one day, too!
> 
> If you're interested in seeing what else I'm up to, talking fandom (or anything else), or lobbing prompts at my head in the hopes I'll write one for you...come visit my tumblr - everything-a-wolf-could-want - and, as ever, leave me love in the comments below because nothing makes me happier!
> 
> ~ Sly

If pressed, Derek wasn’t sure he could have explained how it had happened. With his heightened senses and reflexes, it shouldn’t have. Derek had never been in a car accident that was an _actual_ accident (as opposed to a hunter deliberately ramming into his car, for instance). Not once, in the eight years he’d been driving. He wished he could blame it on a mechanical issue - the brakes giving out, or the power steering dying (though with his strength that probably wouldn’t have mattered much anyway), or _anything,_ actually. That hadn’t happened, though.

 _Nothing_ had happened, really. Nothing other than Derek’s poor decision making combining with Stiles’ incredibly bad habit of being in the wrong place at exactly the worst possible time.

One moment, Derek was gunning the Camaro at one of the sprites the Packs were fighting. Derek didn’t appreciate the mischievous Fae taking up residency in the Preserve, and everyone had agreed that they posed a viable enough threat to Beacon Hills to merit asking them to leave. The sprites had become instantly aggressive and Derek figured running some of the little bastards over was fitting punishment for the way they were ripping everyone to shreds, laughing all the while. So he’d run for the car, started it up, and driven towards them. He’d run over two, and was preparing to mow down a third, when _it_ happened.

Derek thought maybe, just maybe, one of the sprites had shoved Stiles in front of the Camaro. Or maybe Stiles had just tripped; that was possible. Or - and Derek was hesitant to even suggest this, but it _was_ a possibility - maybe some part of Derek’s brain had registered the young man’s presence and assumed he would jump out the way, as any of the rest of the Packs would have. Maybe, for just an instant, Derek had forgotten Stiles was a vulnerable human, who broke easily and healed slowly, and so his brain hadn’t perceived any danger, and maybe _that_ was why he hadn’t stopped the car or turned the wheel.

Maybe _that_ was why he’d hit Stiles before he hit the brakes, sending the teen rolling across the hood before he disappeared off to the right side of the car without so much as a cry of pain. Or, you know, maybe it was just bad luck. Derek wasn’t sure.

What he _was_ sure of, as soon as he got out of the Camaro and rushed to Stiles’ side, was that Stiles was still breathing. That was always a relief to see. He was, however, unconscious. Stiles also smelled like blood and pain, which weren’t good signs. Derek glanced up in time to see Lydia disposing of the last of the sprites, using the mixture Deaton had sent along with them _‘Just in case.’_ Ever since Scott had become a True Alpha, Deaton had been much more helpful. Derek tried not to take it personally, but it was a bit hard not to.

As soon as the all-clear was called out, Scott was kneeling next to Derek, eyes burning red. “I can’t believe you _hit him!_ Seriously, Derek, what the hell?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Derek snapped back, and he knew his eyes were flashing red as well but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Just...let’s get him to the hospital, okay.? He’s not going to heal like we do. Is your mom on shift?”

“It’s a Friday night, so yeah.” Scott reached for Stiles at the same time Derek did, then bared his fangs in annoyance and growled. “He’s _my_ pack member, Derek. Back off.”

Derek swallowed down the urge to growl back, because Stiles was the biggest reason Scott tolerated working with him _and_ the biggest reason they fought, because Derek had always considered the teenage boy a member of _his_ pack - ever since Stiles had tread water for two hours, keeping them both afloat - and Scott knew it. Just as they both knew Scott considered Stiles his brother and therefore _his_ pack member. The trouble, of course, was that Stiles had never formally chosen one of them over the other, and seemed to arbitrarily side with each of them during fights, and never let either of them give him orders unless it was something he’d planned on doing anyway, which meant Stiles was a bit of a grey area. Scott, of course, openly declared Stiles as _his,_ but Derek never acknowledged the claim and Stiles never agreed, and it was all rather complicated. And Derek wasn’t going to start a pack challenge over it right now.

So Derek simply nodded towards the jeep and offered quietly. “I’ll drive, if you want to hold him in the back so he doesn’t get jostled around. I’m not sure what got hurt.”

Scott scowled for another few seconds, then his features smoothed into human and his eyes went brown. “Fine, you can drive.” He fished the keys out of Stiles’ pocket - very carefully - and handed them to Derek before lifting Stiles into his arms, wincing when the other teen cried out in pain as he was moved.

“Erica, take the Camaro back to the loft.” Derek barked, tossing the blonde girl his keys as he stalked towards Stiles’ jeep. “I’ll check it for damage tomorrow. Make sure everyone gets home safely, please.”

His second-in-command - because somehow a spunky teenage girl had earned that position, and Derek tried not to think too much about it because it was just too weird - agreed and started organizing everyone, both packs listening attentively to her. Not because she was Derek’s second, but simply because she was well-liked, despite the more abrasive aspects of her personality. In truth, there wasn’t much friction between Derek’s pack and Scott’s, and if the two alphas got along better they might have managed to meld into a single pack instead. Somehow, Derek didn’t see it ever happening.

Pushing the thought away, Derek started up the jeep as Scott settled into the backseat with Stiles. He was a little surprised when Allison climbed into the front passenger seat, and a bit less surprised when Lydia slid into the back, but he didn’t say anything. It didn’t take long to get to the hospital, thankfully, and as Scott carried him in through the emergency room entrance, Stiles was waking up.

 

“Oh cra-ap.” Stiles keened, and Derek immediately reached out, ignoring the warning flash of Scott’s eyes, to touch Stiles’ neck and pull some of his pain into himself. Stiles whimpered again when Derek let go. “My...fuck, it’s my leg, I...are we at the hospital? What happened?”

“Derek ran you over.” Scott snapped, grateful when his mother was at their sides a moment later. “Mom, he got hit by a car and he was unconscious and now he says his leg hurts.”

“Alright, bring him this way.” Melissa turned on her heel and walked towards a room, the others following behind her like a line of ducklings. “And somebody call Noah, please, and tell him what’s going on.”

“I’ll call him.” Lydia offered, grabbing Allison’s hand and making the other girl stop before entering the small hospital room. “Come on, Allison. We’ll do it together.”

Derek followed Scott into the room, though, watching as Stiles was laid on the bed. “Okay, Stiles, I’m going to take your vitals first and then I’ll take a look at your leg.”

Stiles was whimpering under his breath, face pale and pinched with pain, but he nodded briefly. As Melissa worked, Scott kept bouncing between staring at Stiles in concern and glaring at Derek. Part of Derek wanted to glare back, but he _had_ technically hit Stiles, so he figured a little glaring was merited. His biggest concern, really, was making sure Stiles was okay. Scott’s temper and overprotective behavior weren’t really important.

Scott and Derek were kicked out of the room while Melissa helped Stiles change into a hospital gown - a scream of pain when they tried to take his jeans off had Melissa running for scissors to remove them instead - and then she was rushing him to x-ray. When the Sheriff ran in, face flushed and worried, Scott hastily - if quietly - explained that Derek had hit Stiles’ with the Camaro while they were handling the sprites. On the one hand, it was a good thing Noah knew about the supernatural and had for more than a year. On the other hand, Derek was pretty sure Chris Argent had given Noah a small supply of wolfsbane bullets and the Sheriff was glaring at him in a way that suggested he was considering using them.

“I didn’t mean to hit him.” Derek mumbled, because this was Stiles’ _dad_ and he understood the man’s anger. “I was running over the sprites. Stiles just...got in the way.”

“He does that a lot.” Noah agreed, shoulders drooping as the anger seemed to drain out of him. “I guess I’m lucky he hasn’t wound up hurt more often. Just always figured it’d be something crazy when I finally had to come here for him, not a _car.”_

“There _was_ something crazy involved.” Derek pointed out, not altogether helpfully.

Melissa walked up before anyone could say anything else, and everyone turned wide, expectant eyes on her. “He’s got a broken leg.” She said without preamble. “A tibial shaft fracture, but it’s a stable one so he shouldn’t need surgery, if he’s careful and lets it set right. We’ll splint him for five days, he’ll have a long cast for three to four weeks, then once he can bear weight it’s either four weeks in a short cast and four in a brace, or eight weeks in a brace to minimize atrophy of the muscles and stiffness of his knee and ankle. He’ll have crutches once he’s able to start bearing weight, and once he’s out of the brace he’ll have a few more months of healing and physical therapy to get back to baseline. And he _definitely_ won’t be playing lacrosse again this year.”

“He’s never going to stay off it long enough to let it heal right. He’ll be trying to walk on it two days in, if that.” Noah looked miserable. “We should probably just let them do the surgery now. You know how Stiles is, Melissa. He’ll hurt himself to get to something before he’ll ask for help or bother someone about it, and he’ll sneak away the second I’m at work or looking away.”

“No, he won’t.” Scott said thoughtfully. “We just have to have someone watching him until the bone is starting to knit, that’s all.” Scott grinned at Noah and added. “He might be able to sneak around _you,_ but he can’t do it around us wolves.”

“It’s not a bad idea.” Melissa admitted, looking considering. “You guys are strong enough to carry him up and down the stairs, and fast enough to get to him before he hurts himself if he tries something stupid.”

Noah huffed out a laugh. “Which he _will._ Because he’s Stiles.” Noah shook his head, and asked Scott. “So who do we post as guard? Or do we want to do this in a rotating shift? Because you know how Stiles is when he’s sick or hurt, Scott, and he’s going to drive whoever it is nuts.”

Scott’s eyes flicked to Derek, and Derek took a quick step back. “You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking, Scott.” Melissa spoke before Derek could voice his own disbelief.

“Why not?” Scott raised an eyebrow. “Derek’s the one who hit him, so he should have to watch over him until he heals.”

“He’s not merchandise in a store.” Derek growled. “There’s no _‘you broke it, you bought it’_ policy on Stiles!”

Scott flashed his eyes at Derek, growling lowly as he stepped closer. “You hurt a member of _my_ pack, Derek. That gives me the right to challenge you for official claim on your territory. And we both know which of us has the stronger pack. You really want to push me?”

Derek wondered when the hell the scrawny asthmatic kid Peter had bitten had grown into the formidable man standing in front of him, because Scott was only just-barely eighteen and hadn’t been an alpha for much more than a year, but he was right. Between their two packs, Scott’s had somehow wound up stronger. Derek had a few advantages - like Peter and Cora being born wolves like himself, and like Peter’s daughter Malia who could turn into an actual coyote, and his own ability to shift into a full wolf. But the rest of his pack was Erica, and Boyd, and Jackson; a handful of ragtag teenagers who’d chosen not to jump ship when Scott had become an alpha as well. It was nothing compared to Scott’s pack, which had slowly gained members with a variety of powers and talents.

Like Lydia, who’d been eager to get away from Jackson once she started dating someone new, because apparently epic love was enough to save the day - and to save Jackson from himself - but it wasn’t enough to overcome their relationship issues. So that added a banshee to Scott’s side, and her new boyfriend, Aiden, who was a former-alpha from the Alpha Pack they’d disbanded back in the teens’ junior year. Aiden was a package deal with his twin, Ethan, who came with his human-but-in-the-know boyfriend, Danny. Who was apparently from a half-human and half-werewolf family himself. So though he wasn’t a wolf, he was more than capable of keeping up with his new pack, and everyone knew Scott could ask Danny’s family for help in a pinch. Though Derek honestly didn’t know if they’d stand against _him,_ since they’d once lived under Talia’s protection and had held the territory in Laura’s stead when she took Derek to New York all those years ago.

Allison had never gotten past her mistrust of Derek - not fully - so she’d stayed Scott’s even after their final break up. When she’d started dating Isaac, the teen had asked Derek if he could switch packs and Derek hadn’t been able to say no, because anyone with eyes could see where Isaac’s heart was. Derek had often thought Boyd would have followed too, except Erica was fiercely loyal to Derek and Boyd was devoted to Erica. Small favors and all. Melissa, of course, came down firmly under Scott, though Derek had always felt Noah tried to stay balanced between the two packs because his son had never chosen, one way or the other. Scott’s new girlfriend was a thunder kitsune named Kira, and Derek had to marvel at the fact that Scott’s pack included not only wolves and humans - and a hunter to boot, for all that Allison claimed she and her father were ‘retired’ - but a banshee and a fox as well.

It was all a bit overwhelming, and Derek _really_ didn’t like the idea of a fight between the two packs, or of Scott issuing a formal challenge for territory that had belonged to the Hales for longer than Beacon Hills had even existed as a town. Which didn’t really leave him with a lot of options.

“He won’t be able to drive, either.” Melissa pointed out. “The jeep is a manual, so he’d need two feet. Not to mention it’s his right leg that’s broken. So someone will need to take him back and forth to school.”

Noah studied Derek’s face for a few minutes, then sighed. “You can stay in the guest room until he’s allowed to be alone again. That way you’re close by all the time and can bring him to and from school.”

Scott was nodding, grinning smugly at Derek. “We can keep an eye on him while he’s _at_ school, but outside of that he’s your responsibility, Derek. Don’t let him get hurt again.”

Derek briefly considered trying to launch a protest, but in the end decided against it. For one thing, time spent with Stiles wasn’t exactly a hardship. Though he’d initially found Stiles grating and annoying, the energetic teen had grown on him and he found he didn’t mind him much anymore. For another, taking care of Stiles while he was injured could potentially create a pack bond, in which case he would finally be able to refute Scott’s claim on Stiles and bring Stiles properly into _his_ pack. And if Derek refused to examine why he was so eager to have a spastic seventeen year old in his pack, then that was no one’s business but his.

“Fine.” He agreed tersely, then added with a hint of a sneer. “Since you’re apparently incapable of looking after him despite _claiming_ to be his alpha.”

“I _am_ his alpha!” Scott snarled, and Derek wanted to laugh at how Scott’s eyes flashed red, because the younger man still couldn't control himself when he was goaded. “And as his alpha, I’m making sure that the person responsible for his injury helps him get better.”

“Whatever helps you sleep.” Derek shrugged, as though it was of little consequence to him. Scott snarled, and Derek scowled back. “Don’t snap at me. Alpha or not, you’re still a puppy and I’m an alpha, too. I’ll watch him, but you accept that how I choose to do so is beyond your control.”

Turning to Melissa, he asked. “Is Stiles being released tonight?”

Melissa shook her head, a knowing smile on her lips as she flicked her gaze between Derek and her son. “No, we’ll keep him until he’s out of the splint and into the long cast, to make sure there’s no soft tissue damage and to ensure the break stays stable enough for a non-surgical recovery option.”

“Fine.” Derek turned to the Sheriff and managed a small smile. “Call me when you’re taking him home and I’ll be there. In the meantime, I need to make sure the pack will be okay with just Peter in the house while I’m dealing with Stiles’ recovery. If you need something, let me know.”

Once Noah had agreed, Derek left the hospital and headed back to the newly rebuilt Hale House. Derek had managed to reclaim the property from the County during his pack’s Junior year, then he’d spent that summer rebuilding it. It wasn’t an exact replica of the home he’d grown up in - Cora had agreed that doing that would be too painful - but it was close, and had the same feeling of love and home and safety that he’d grown up with. It was a place for _pack,_ and that was so important to him. Cora, Malia, and Peter were the only full-time residents now that Isaac lived with Scott and Melissa, but Boyd and Erica slept over at least half the time and Jackson spent a considerable amount of time at the house, too. Scott’s pack came over a lot as well. While it was strange, having the scent of another pack all over his den, Derek had learned to accept the mingled scents as a sort of ‘extended family’ smell. It was still odd, but Derek wasn’t territorial about it.

Erica met him at the door, her pretty face twisted up with worry. “How’s he doing, boss man?”

“A broken leg, but otherwise he’s fine.” Derek didn't bother trying to put Erica off until more of his pack was present, knowing how close she and Stiles were. Erica would handle filling everyone else in, anyway. “I’m going to stay over there to help Noah with Stiles once he’s released from the hospital, so you’ll be in charge of keeping things settled here. I’ll check in, and do grocery runs while you’re all at school, but the day-to-day upkeep and cooking is on you to delegate and oversee. If Peter gets out of hand, let me know.”

“Whoa, big responsibilities time, huh?” But Erica was smiling as she followed Derek upstairs and she didn't seem worried, so Derek figured she felt up to handling it. “So, what’s the timeline look like?”

Derek walked into his bedroom, stripping off his shirt - still covered in blood and sprite-related gore from the fight - as he answered. “About a week until he’s home, then about twelve weeks total with the leg in some sort of medical support...thing. I don't know how much of that I’ll be needed for, since he’s supposed to be able to walk on it with crutches at some point, but assume all of it for worst-case scenario planning.”

“Don't you mean _best-_ case, Der?” Erica laughed when Derek shot her a dirty look while toeing off his shoes. As he undid the fly of his jeans, she added. “You should just kiss him, you know. He might flail a little at first, but I bet he’ll get onboard quick. Stiles is a little insane, but he’s got _eyes.”_

“Shut up, Erica, or I’ll leave Jackson in charge while I'm gone.”

It was an idle threat, and judging by her eyeroll Erica knew it, but she mimed zipping her mouth shut. Her smirk said she wasn’t likely to remain silent for _long,_ but Derek had long-since accepted her generally meddlesome nature and the way she harped on him about Stiles in particular. As he unabashedly shoved his jeans down - it was hardly the first time a member of his (or Scott’s) pack had seen him nude - and walked towards his en-suite bathroom, Erica cleared her throat pointedly. Derek bit back an annoyed growl. He was tired and he _reeked_ of sprites and fey magic and Stiles’ blood; a shower and sleep were the only things he wanted to deal with at the moment. But Erica was stubborn and Derek knew she wouldn’t let him be until she’d said her piece. He turned halfway around to raise an eyebrow at her, a silent inquiry as to what the fuck she wanted and why it was so damned important that it couldn't wait until _after_ he showered.

“Look, I’ll let you go in a second, I just...” Erica’s mouth twisted funnily and the concern on her face was so real it made Derek’s heart hurt just seeing it. “He’s really okay? I mean, they’re sure it’s just the leg and there’s no internal injuries or brain stuff or...like, they’re _sure?”_

Derek’s face softened and he opened his arms, sighing softly as Erica rushed into them and snuggled close to his chest. “He’s fine, Erica. Stiles is tougher than he looks. But if you want, and if it’ll help you relax, I can take you to visit him tomorrow, after we’ve _all_ had a chance to rest. Sound good?”

“Yes.” Erica’s voice was a little muffled against his chest and she rubbed the top of her head under Derek’s chin for a moment - a mutual scent-marking that Derek knew would help her stay calm until she could see Stiles and assure herself he was okay. After a long minute, she pulled back and seemed to slip back into the bad-girl persona she’d cultivated since taking the bite. “Well, you smell like you’re in desperate need of a shower and I think you just got sprite-gunk all over me, so...”

“Get out, Erica.” Derek said, lips quirking up in amusement as he walked into his bathroom, calling over his shoulder. “And stop staring at my ass!”

“I can’t help it; it’s just so _firm...”_ Erica called back, laughter lacing her words. “Remind me to bounce a quarter off it some time, boss man.”

Derek opted not to dignify that with an answer, instead shutting the bathroom door on her cackling, but the truth was he didn’t mind her teasing in the slightest. It reminded him of Laura, and family, and what it was like to be surrounded by people who loved him. It hurt a little, in a good way, because Derek wished Laura could have met Erica; was certain they’d have been a terrifying team, even without factoring in Allison or Lydia or _Stiles._ But he was grateful for all of the little ways his new pack fit together, with him _and_ with each other, and he was slowly learning not to let what was lost color the things he had gained. Shaking his head to clear it, Derek stepped into the shower and turned it up as hot as it would go. He was going to get clean and go to bed. Everything else could wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After spending most of Sunday at the hospital with Stiles, Erica was in a much better mood. Derek took that to mean Stiles was doing as well as could be expected, given he had been hit by a car. She went to school with minimal fuss for the week - as did the rest of both packs - but every afternoon she insisted Derek drop her off at the hospital. In fact, it seemed nearly everyone wound up in Stiles’ hospital room, though Derek himself refused to go. Though he wouldn’t have admitted it out loud - and in fact, vehemently denied it with a flash of red eyes and some serious eyebrowing when Cora brought it up - Derek was avoiding Stiles. Having to face the teenager and apologize for having run him over, accidentally or not, wasn’t something Derek was looking forward to.

Thursday evening, Derek received a phone call from the Sheriff, informing him that Stiles would be released first thing in the morning. “Do you want me to meet you at the hospital, or at your house?”

“Well, he’s actually going to go right from the hospital to school, since he’s been cleared.” Noah had explained, sounding exhausted. “I work night shift tonight and tomorrow and...well, a lot, really. But it means I’ll need to sleep after I take him to school, so if you can wait to come over with your stuff and settle in until you’ve picked Stiles up from school, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Derek didn’t hesitate to agree, because everyone knew Noah didn’t get enough sleep and worrying about his son - and his son’s involvement with the supernatural - was the number one reason why. Anything Derek could do to help Noah out, he was going to do. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

Noah sighed, sounding relieved, then said softly. “Thank you, Derek. You’re a good man.” 

After hanging up, Derek glanced at the dufflebag he had pulled out of his closet but not yet packed. Shaking his head, he decided it could wait until morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek wondered if it was creepy how comfortable he felt pulling into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High. It probably was, except he really wasn’t that much older than his betas and since all of them except Peter currently attended BHHS, it was to be expected that he’d have a certain level of comfort with being at the school...sort of like a parent would. Not to mention that he had attended it himself, before he and Laura moved to New York. Derek had a feeling it was still creepier than he would ever be willing to admit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he stubbornly pushed the thought away. Besides, it wasn’t like the Sheriff was going to have him arrested for being on school grounds, considering he’d told Derek to pick Stiles up.

Spotting Erica’s blonde curls right away, Derek parked the Camaro a few spots down from where she was standing, part of a teeming mass of supernatural creatures - and random, in-the-know humans. He got out of the car and approached the group, noting absently that it was an almost seamless blend of both his and Scott’s packs, the two groups pressed close together as they surrounded Stiles. Not that Derek could see the injured teen at the moment, but he could hear Stiles’ familiar heartbeat. As Derek stepped closer, the werewolves were the first to turn their heads and catch sight of him. Scott turned first - being an alpha of a pack in someone else’s territory meant he was heavily aware of Derek’s presence all the time. Derek’s betas responded to him next, then Scott’s, followed by the non-were members of their pack who were mostly responding to the way everyone else was looking. 

“Hey, boss man.” Erica waved cheerfully, and Derek didn’t know if she gave some sort of signal or if his other betas were simply that in-tune with each other, but _his_ packmates all shifted to one side. They formed a little grouping behind Erica even as Scott’s pack shifted - less smoothly than his own had, Derek smugly noted - to the other side, revealing Stiles. “You taking Stiles home now?”

“Assuming he doesn’t have any other commitments, yes.” Derek moved closer, suddenly - _desperately_ \- fighting down the urge to whine and bare his throat in apology.

Stiles was in a wheelchair, his right leg in a cast that stopped midway up his thigh. It bent slightly at the knee, then continued down to the ball of his foot. His ankle was set at a 90 degree angle. Stiles’ wheelchair had a sort of raised platform that allowed him to keep his leg extended in front of him, and the off-white color of the cast was marred by notes and doodles and scribbled signatures in a variety of colors. Derek wondered if it was just the packs who’d taken markers to Stiles’ cast, or if it had been other classmates as well. He wondered if Stiles had invited people to draw on it, or if they’d asked, and he wondered why humans did things like draw on something that’s purpose was to assist with healing. It wasn’t as though the cast was suddenly more effective because it had artwork or words or names all over it. But then, Derek had never really understood humans, despite his mother’s insistence that they should all try to do so.

“Nothing to do but homework.” Stiles admitted, and his voice was cheerful but there was an edge to it that made Derek think he was probably in pain and trying not to show it. His scent gave away the same thing, especially since the only medication Derek could pick up on in his blood was Adderall and an antibiotic of some sort. “And not much of that, since most of the teachers went easy on me. Apparently getting hit by a car earned me sympathy points or something. Which is actually sort of nice.”

As if on-cue, all of the girls - even Malia and Cora - collectively made sympathetic cooing sounds at Stiles, most of them going so far as to reach out and pet some part of the teenager. Stiles’ face flushed, but he ducked his head and looked pleased by the attention. “Yeah, yeah...love you ladies, too.”

Derek growled a little before he could help himself. His betas immediately withdrew, while the girls from Scott’s pack rolled their eyes at Derek before backing off. “Problem, Der?” Lydia smirked a little as she fussed with the collar of Stiles’ plaid overshirt for a moment before finally shifting back.

“I don’t actually enjoy spending an indefinite amount of time in a high school parking lot.” Derek retorted coldly, before raising an eyebrow and adding. “I also promised Noah I’d make sure Stiles rested enough, so you’re going to have to excuse us now.”

Before anyone could protest - or comment at all - Stiles reached down and gripped the large wheels on the chair, pushing himself forward with less grace than was probably safe. “Come on then, Sourwolf. Let’s go before your scowl makes security realize you’re as much of a creeper as you are.”

Derek stepped to the side to let Stiles pass, then followed behind the teen as he wheeled himself determinedly towards Derek’s car. He stopped beside the passenger door, waiting as Derek opened it for him. For a moment, neither moved, then Stiles started to stand and Derek jerked forward. Stiles froze, hands on the arms of the wheelchair and left foot braced on the ground, about to push himself up to standing. There was a tense pause as they simply stared at each other for several heartbeats.

Finally, Derek asked. “Can I...?”

Stiles frowned. “Can you what? Full sentences, Derek. I know you can manage it if you try.”

“I don’t want to pick you up without your permission.” Derek gritted out from between clenched teeth, wondering why Stiles had to make everything so _damned_ difficult all the time. “So, can I?”

“Um, _no?”_ Stiles shot him a weird look. “Why the hell would you pick me up? I’ve got a broken leg. I’m not an invalid or a baby. I can get into the car from the wheelchair, christ.”

“Are you supposed to be putting weight on that leg already?” Derek was certain his eyebrows were doing that thing Stiles claimed they did when he was trying to kill someone with just a look, but was really just him being concerned or, occasionally, frustrated. “Melissa said...”

Stiles groaned, cutting Derek’s words off even as he stood up, though Derek noted all of his weight was on his good leg. The toes of his casted foot just barely brushed the ground, and it was clear Stiles had practiced standing up because he managed it somewhat gracefully. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for me and all because I know my dad is worried and having you around will make him feel better. But I’m not incompetent, regardless of what you might think of me, and I’m not weak or fragile or whatever. I can handle a broken leg without you - or anyone else for that matter - acting like I’m dying.”

Stiles turned his body, weight still on his good leg, then gave a couple of careful hops backwards until he was able to lower himself into the passenger seat of the Camaro, hands braced on the door and doorframe respectively. “I can handle this, okay? Regardless of what Melissa, or Scott, or _my dad_ say, Derek. I _can._ I just need you to put the damned wheelchair in your trunk. It collapses, so it should fit.”

While Stiles carefully maneuvered the seat back so he could swing his casted leg in without banging it into anything, Derek opened the Camaro’s trunk and collapsed the wheelchair. He slid it in, which - collapsed or not - was _not_ easy. The large wheels kept spinning, moving the rest of the chair around as Derek did his level-best to shove it into his mostly empty trunk. By the time he accomplished the task, he was growling steadily under his breath and vowing to use the jeep to drive Stiles around until he was done with the wheelchair. True, the Camaro was faster and better looking and immensely less likely to break down, but at least he could just shove the stupid wheelchair into the back of the jeep without a hassle.

Derek yanked open his door, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the door smartly behind himself. Stiles shot him a wide-eyed look, then asked. “Did you put my bag in the trunk, too?”

Derek growled, and Stiles held both hands up, palm out, in a peacemaking gesture. “Whoa, nevermind. It’s fine. I’ll just wait until we get to the house to take my medicine. Forget I asked.”

And Derek might have accepted that, except he could smell the pain on Stiles and see it in the pinched lines of Stiles’ face and the stiff set of his shoulders. “When was the last time you took a painkiller?”

“They gave me something before they released me from the hospital this morning.” Stiles muttered. When Derek scowled at him, he shrugged and turned to look out the window. “The stuff they’ve got me on makes me feel cloudy and sleepy and off, okay? I was practically drooling through my first few classes, until it started wearing off around lunch time. I just figured I’d wait to take it again until I got home.”

“Goddammit, Stiles...” Derek slammed his way back out of the car, grabbing Stiles’ bag and a bottle of water from the trunk before getting back in and thrusting both things at the teen. “You need to take care of yourself. What good does it do to have you in pain for hours? How’s that helping anything?”

“At least I could take notes and do classwork.” Stiles shrugged, shaking a round pill out into his palm before screwing the top back on the fat little orange bottle. He twisted the lid off the water, popped the pill into his mouth, and took three quick gulps to wash it down. “Anyway, I’m fine. I can handle a little pain. It’s not a big deal.”

Derek growled even as he threw the Camaro into reverse and pulled out of the parking space. As he shifted into drive and headed towards the Stilinski house, Derek muttered. “If the pills bother you so much, just...just ask Scott to help you. Or hell, _any_ of the wolves. It’s not like they don’t all know how to dampen pain. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

Stiles made a soft sound in the back of his throat, then admitted. “I didn’t even think of that. I...” He took a slow, measured breath, then asked. “Any chance you could...do that? Now, I mean. I...the pills, they don’t...I mean, it’s not _instant,_ you know? I need to wait at least twenty minutes for it to kick in and I...”

Derek listened to Stiles’ throat click as he swallowed before adding. “It hurts right now. Kind of a lot.”

“Of course.”

Reaching out without taking his eyes off the road, Derek curled his fingers around the back of Stiles’ neck. He reached for the pain, drawing it out as quickly as he could. His breath hissed quietly past his teeth even as his body’s healing kicked in and dealt with it. Stiles hadn’t been exaggerating; not at all. If anything, the teen had been understating things. The pain was sharp and dull at the same time, in a way Derek hadn’t even realized was possible. He wondered if that was normal, but it wasn’t like he had any sort of frame of reference. For all the bones he’d broken during his life, none had ever been broken for more than a few minutes. A handful of hours, tops, if he’d had other injuries to contend with at the same time. And still, nothing could prepare him for dealing with the way a _human_ healed; slow and imperfect.

When Stiles sighed in relief, tension bleeding out of the muscles under Derek’s fingers, he slowly withdrew his hand. By the time Derek pulled up in front of the Stilinski house, Stiles looked sleepy and languid, limbs loose and mouth soft, eyes heavy lidded. Derek wondered momentarily if Stiles looked the same way after an orgasm before forcibly reminding himself he wasn’t supposed to think of Stiles that way. At least not until Stiles’ 18th birthday was in the past as opposed to the future. Shaking the image from his mind, Derek got out of the Camaro and wrestled the stupid wheelchair from the trunk. He looked at the walkway, and the front steps, then at the wheelchair with a frown. Cursing softly, he left the damned thing collapsed on itself and circled the car on the passenger’s side.

“Mmmm...Derek.” Stiles rolled his head to the side, smiling up at him for a moment before he squinted and peered around him. “Where’s the wheelchair? I need it. Not s’posed t’ walk yet.”

Derek leaned into the Camaro, reaching for Stiles and huffing in annoyance when the boy pulled back. “Stiles, I’m not fighting with the stupid wheelchair on the stairs. Just let me carry you inside.” When Stiles just stared at him, golden eyes wide, Derek gritted his teeth and added harshly. “Please.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose and squinted at Derek - and really, he looked ridiculous but Derek could smell the painkiller in his blood now and wasn’t surprised - but after a minute he sighed and nodded. “Okay. You can carry me. But make sure none of the neighbors are watching. Mrs. Faring next door is _so_ nosy. ” He peeked around Derek as though looking for her, then nudged him back a step as he whispered. “She’s a _gossip.”_

“You have a broken leg.” Derek pointed out, watching as Stiles slid out of the car, balancing unsteadily on his left leg and clinging to the Camaro’s roof. “I doubt me carrying you will raise many eyebrows, considering.”

“You don’t know Mrs. Faring.” Stiles said sourly, shooting a frowning look at his neighbor’s house. Then he looked back at Derek and his face smoothed out into sleepy-happy lines again. “Inside? I wanna lay down. M’sleepy all a sudden.”

“Probably the drugs.” Derek carefully slid one arm behind Stiles’ legs - under his thighs, just above the cast - and the other around Stiles’ back, and lifted. Stiles hissed a little as Derek swung him up, but he relaxed quickly, snuggling into Derek’s chest. “This okay?”

“Mhmmm...” Stiles murmured into the soft black cotton of Derek’s tee-shirt. “S’fine, Der. Thanks.”

Derek carefully kicked the Camaro’s door shut and headed up the walk, mounting the stairs easily despite Stiles’ added weight in his arms. At the top, he paused in front of the door, debating. He could put Stiles down, though the boy was unstable and drugged so he might not stay upright well. He could attempt to balance Stiles while unlocking and opening the door himself, but that risked jostling Stiles’ leg and causing further injury if anything went wrong. He could ring the bell, but he had a feeling the Sheriff was still sleeping - the heartbeat and breathing he could hear from inside were at a resting rate - and he really didn’t want to wake the man up when he had a night shift to work.

Sighing, Derek went with the only option left. “Stiles, can you get your keys out and get the door?”

“Mmmm...” Stiles hummed sleepily, head lolling a little against Derek’s shoulder, but he obligingly unhooked his keys from his belt loop and stretched towards the door.

Derek focused on keeping Stiles from tumbling right out of his arms while the teen clumsily unlocked the door and pushed it inwards. Shaking his head as Stiles sort of sagged back into his grip after succeeding in his endeavor, Derek carefully turned sideways before stepping through the door. He took extra care not to jostle Stiles’ leg and went only as far as the living room, setting his charge gently on the sofa. Stiles let his keys drop to the floor even as he seemed to sink into the cushions, eyes already closed and his breathing settling quickly into the deep, even rhythm that meant _sleep._

Derek shook his head and picked the keys up, dropping them in the little basket on the table in the front hall as he went out to grab Stiles’ wheelchair and backpack. Once those were safely inside, he went back and began unloading his things from the Camaro’s backseat. Not that he had much - he figured he could always run back to his house if he _really_ needed something and hadn’t packed it - but still. All of it wound up in the small guest bedroom upstairs, before Derek headed back to the kitchen. Noah was still asleep and Stiles was in a drug-induced sleep-state himself, so the alpha figured dinner was on his shoulders. Not that he minded. Derek actually really enjoyed cooking. Knowing Stiles was a little crazy about his dad’s diet, Derek decided on a simple but flavorful veggie-and-chicken stir fry over white rice. And since the prep-work would take a while, Derek opted to start right away. There wasn’t much else to do, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re not carrying me up the stairs.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell not walking up them.” Derek snapped, annoyed by the sudden downturn in the evening’s overall tone.

Dinner had gone well - Stiles had been a little groggy, but had woken up some once he’d started eating - and Noah had headed off to work not long after. Stiles had done the little homework he had while Derek had read a few chapters in the book he’d brought with him. Then, they’d watched a movie together in companionable silence. It had gotten late enough that Derek figured Stiles would want another dose of painkiller, which meant moving him to his bedroom before he passed out again was probably a good idea. Unfortunately, when he said as much, Stiles had balked.

“I’m not a cripple!” Stiles was bristling like an angry cat, and it had Derek’s own hackles rising in response. “I can get myself up to bed.

“Actually, you _are,_ and you _can’t.”_ Derek could feel his eyes flash red and cursed the way Stiles pushed his buttons and destroyed his control. After taking a long, slow breath, Derek said evenly. “I know this sucks. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. But I’m not going to let you hurt yourself to try to prove a point when we _both_ know better. Do you _want_ to have them surgically screw your leg bone back together?”

Stiles shook his head, jaw clenched and lips pursed in a defiant pout. Derek glowered at him. “Then stop acting like a stubborn asshole and let me help you.” When Stiles looked like he was going to argue again, Derek bit out. “I’m the reason you got hurt, dammit. Could you just...just let me do this? Please.”

Stiles’ jaw stayed tight, but his eyes dropped and color rose in his cheeks. Derek listened to the way his heartbeat stuttered before picking up a little speed, but Stiles was nodding so he didn’t dwell on it too much. He just muttered _thank you_ under his breath before scooping Stiles up and heading for the stairs. He maneuvered up them as carefully as possible, grateful for the way Stiles held himself still in his arms. He made a quick stop with Stiles in the upstairs bathroom - staying outside the door and listening as Stiles hopped to the toilet first and then then to the sink, taking care of all his before-bed needs rather quickly. The second Stiles opened the bathroom door, Derek had him back in his arms and walked to Stiles’ room. Once he’d set the teen carefully on his bed, he went back downstairs to grab the fat little orange pill bottle and a bottle of water from the fridge. Mounting the stairs, he pretended he couldn't hear Stiles muttering to himself; in fact, he deliberately tuned out the teen’s voice, not wanting to violate his privacy.

He knocked lightly on the doorframe before entering, making sure Stiles knew he was there. That fair skin was flushed when he held out the water and medicine, and Derek felt the need to offer quietly. “I wasn’t listening to you. Just now, I mean. I...this is your room; your _home._ I wouldn’t intrude that way. I can control my hearing, and I promise I won’t listen in on purpose. So if you need me, just make sure you say my name a little louder than normal volume so that I’m sure to catch it.”

“Thank you.” Stiles said, before swallowing down a pill and chugging half the bottle of water. His cheeks were still stained pink, but he seemed relieved. “For the medicine, and for helping so my dad doesn’t worry so much. And, for...you know, for not listening in. For respecting my privacy. That...it means a lot.”

Derek nodded before jerking his head towards the door. “I’m going to read a little before I sleep, and I’m a pretty light sleeper, so...if you need anything, just. Call out. Okay?” Stiles nodded and Derek slipped out of Stiles’ room and into the guest room.

Most of him hoped Stiles would just fall asleep and stay that way until morning, aided by the drugs. As for the small part of him that hoped to hear Stiles’ voice, calling out for assistance...well, no one had to know about that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Saturday morning, Derek had barely finished cleaning up from breakfast - and Noah had only just collapsed into bed, after expressing his gratitude at coming home from his shift to find food ready and waiting - when pack members started arriving. Derek hissed at each arriving member to _be fucking quiet, dammit_ because Noah was sleeping. Thankfully, the teens seemed content to snack and watch movies while crowding close to Stiles. It was painfully obvious they just needed reassurance that Stiles was really okay; that he was healing. Derek could understand the urge, better than most of them. It was natural, when there was a human member of the pack, because humans healed so much slower. Their instincts drove them to care for the weaker, more-fragile members of their family group.

Not that Derek would ever use those words to Stiles’ face. The teen was breakable, and healed slow, and wasn’t as fast or as strong, but labeling Stiles _weak_ was a surefire way to get himself kicked in the balls. Derek had learned _that_ lesson the hard way.

Still, it bothered Derek to see the way _both_ packs pressed in on Stiles. He wanted to snarl when Scott offered to carry Stiles to the bathroom after lunch, stepping in and doing it himself with a terse, _I’ve got this_ and nothing else, much to Lydia and Erica’s amusement. It set his teeth on edge when Isaac ran upstairs and grabbed the pillows off Stiles’ bed, to prop up Stiles’ leg a little higher, because that was the sort of thing _his_ pack ought to have been doing. It was mitigated - _slightly_ \- by the fact that Derek had bitten Isaac, as well as by the fact that Erica had issued the demand for the extra pillows, but still. He hated seeing another pack caring for Stiles; hated that he couldn't bar them from being around what his wolf insisted was _his_ injured packmate. Only pack should get to see Stiles in such a vulnerable state.

But Stiles wasn’t really _his._ Not yet, anyway. So Derek bit his tongue and did his best to anticipate Stiles’ needs and wants so no one else was fulfilling them. It didn’t make it any easier, really, but it was all he could think of to do to foster the pack bond he was so desperate to create.

And when dinner time rolled around, Derek ordered pizza only because he was _not_ cooking for two packs in the Stilinskis’ very small kitchen. He promised Stiles he’d give Noah _only_ veggie, then discreetly slipped the Sheriff a single slice of meat-lovers’ as well. But only because he could hear the man’s heart and it was strong and true, despite all of Stiles’ fears. He’d tried telling Stiles that, actually, more than once over the almost two years they’d known each other, but it hadn’t made a bit of difference. So Derek did his best to find a reasonable balance between indulging Noah when he knew it was safe to do so, and keeping Stiles happy.

It was late, when Derek finally booted the last stragglers out of the Stilinski household, and Noah had gone off to work another overnight shift. Derek once again got Stiles settled into his room and gave him his nighttime dose of painkillers. Then he’d slunk tiredly back downstairs and cleaned up the mess left behind, refusing to let Noah come home to the wreckage of a bunch of teenagers. So by the time Derek sought his own bed, it was after midnight and he was exhausted. He’d woken up early and had barely slept the night before, every small noise jarring him awake again. He expected it was because he’d gotten used to the familiarity of having a stable home; because he’d spent a year in the loft and the last four months in the rebuilt house, and he wasn’t used to unfamiliar surroundings anymore. He’d shaken off the transient lifestyle.

Hoping his bone-deep weariness would lend itself to a more restful night, Derek was relieved as he fell swiftly into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek woke to the sound of an elevated heart rate and wondered, absently, why that had his instincts screaming out a warning. Labored breathing reached his ears next, something about the sound almost muffled, as though the person were trying to keep quiet. As his mind struggled towards consciousness, scents slowly filtered in - laundry detergent that wasn’t his, and the faintest whiff of a perfume that almost seemed to permeate the room despite how old and subtle it was; as though the person who had worn it had spent a very long time in the room Derek was in. Which _wasn’t_ his room at the house. Derek opened one eye and blearily took in the rose-and-creme guest room at the Stilinski house. He groaned softly into the pillow, then stiffened when he again caught the sounds coming from outside his room.

“Goddammit, Stiles...” Derek grumbled, already out of bed and halfway to the door, scrubbing his hands tiredly over his face. “You couldn't just behave, could you?”

Without bothering to knock, Derek slammed open Stiles’ door. He couldn't hear the Sheriff’s heartbeat, so he knew the man wasn’t home yet, which meant he didn’t need to worry about waking him up. As soon as the door was open, Stiles froze, staring at Derek’s glowering face like a deer caught in headlights. That pale, mole-dotted skin was flushed a delicious pink - not just Stiles’ face, but down his neck and the top of his shoulders, too. Full lips were parted around a shuddery inhale. Stiles’ bare chest was heaving, and his whole body was tense as a bow string, muscles pulled taut with exertion. Those whiskey-gold eyes were wide and a little glazed over, locked on Derek’s furious face as his own contorted with something between fear and shame.

“D-derek...” Stiles gasped, and looked like he really wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I...it’s not what it looks like!”

“Really?” Derek snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and flashing his eyes red. “Because it _looks like_ you’re trying to get dressed and go downstairs by yourself.”

Groaning, Stiles managed a few wobbly hops backwards before shakily lowering himself onto his desk chair. He’d been balanced rather precariously on his good foot, one hand tightly gripping the edge of his dresser while he tried to get the drawer open one-handed to get a shirt. It clearly hadn’t been going well. Stiles’ skin, under the flush that was clearly from over-exertion, was ashen from pain. His eyes were glassy with it, as well. Derek wasn’t sure how Stiles had managed to get the clean sweatpants on over his cast, even as loose as they were and even given how flexible Derek knew Stiles to be.

And really, Derek was still seeing red.

“Didn’t we _just_ talk about this?” Derek demanded, stomping across the room and picking Stiles up. He was careful about it - even angry, he didn’t want to cause Stiles more pain - and set him gently on the bed again.

When Stiles tried to protest, Derek growled, eyes burning red. “Don’t. _Just don’t._ You’re going to wind up in the hospital again, with screws and pins and crap in your leg. And what do you think that’s going to do to your dad, Stiles? You needing surgery, and him knowing you couldn't just let yourself heal.”

Stiles mouth snapped just, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes dropping down to his lap. Derek angrily stacked pillows against Stiles’ headboard, then grabbed the teen’s hips and dragged him back so he could sit upright, resting against them. He ignored Stiles’ yelp of surprise at the manhandling, and proceeded to take two more pillows and slide them under Stiles’ casted leg. He winced a little when Stiles let out a whimper of pain as his leg was moved, but continued settling Stiles in. Noah had provided everything necessary for a bedridden patient, so it was no trouble for Derek to drape a blanket over Stiles’ lap and then open the little folding legs of the bed tray and set it over Stiles’ thighs.

He turned and grabbed Stiles’ pills, taking one out and grabbing the half-empty bottle of water. “Open.” He snapped, waiting until Stiles complied before setting the pill lightly on the teen’s tongue. He twisted the top off the water bottle, then held it out to Stiles, eyebrows ominous. “Drink.”

Stiles silently took the bottle and swallowed down the water in it, along with the pill. He flinched a little when Derek’s hand suddenly curled around the side of his neck, then went still. Derek was still scowling, but Stiles’ eyes had gone wide with surprise as he dropped them to stare at the thick black lines creeping up Derek’s arm. He sort of melted after a minute or two, the tension bleeding out of him along with the pain. It didn’t help Derek’s temper any. If anything, it made it worse.

“Stay here.” Derek snapped, withdrawing his hand when he felt like Stiles’ pain had dropped back down to a manageable level. “If you get out of this bed again, I swear to god, I’ll tie you to it. I’ll bring you breakfast. I’ll get you stuff to keep busy. If you want to watch something downstairs instead of on your laptop, I’ll carry you. But I better not catch you trying that shit again.”

Stiles nodded silently, eyes dropping down to stare at his fingers, which were twisting restlessly around each other on his lap, between his torso and the bed tray. Growling, Derek turned and stalked back out of the room. He’d make breakfast, and bring Stiles his adderall, and then call the pack and tell them all to stay away. Stiles needed to _rest,_ not get all hyped up or...or whatever he got that had made him try something so _stupid._

By the time he was carrying a plate of food and a glass of orange juice up the stairs - having already ordered both packs to stay away, citing Stiles’ need to rest and heal - the Sheriff was home and eating his own breakfast in the kitchen. Derek opted not to tell him about Stiles’ jailbreak attempt, instead excusing himself with Stiles’ food and medicine. Noah had let him go, happy to be eating bacon and too tired to question Derek’s silence. Considering broody silence had been Derek’s default for some time, it was also entirely possible Noah didn’t see anything unusual with his behavior, actually.

Derek entered Stiles’ room and set the food and drink down on the tray. He fished the adderall bottle out of the pocket of his sweatpants, then set that on the tray, too. “Do you need anything else right now?” His voice was harsh, but his anger was still too fresh to do much about it. When Stiles shook his head, Derek turned and started back towards his own room.

“I’m sorry.”

Derek froze, not far from the door. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Stiles, whose mouth was twisted up on itself in a funny way. “I wanted to thank you, for everything you’ve been doing. I was going to make you breakfast, and I thought if I could just get down the stairs, my wheelchair is down there and I could do the rest while sitting comfortably. I managed to hop to the bathroom and pee, so I thought, well, I can handle getting dressed by myself, this isn’t so bad, right? Except then it _was_ but I was already naked and I didn’t want to admit I’d gotten myself stuck naked, which was stupid, okay. I get that.”

Stiles paused to take a quick breath, then continued in a rush. “And then, it hurt and I was just...I just wanted to get my stupid clothes on so I could ask you to help me downstairs, because I realized I _couldn't_ do it myself, but then you busted in and you put me back in bed and you were _growling.”_ Stiles let out a nervous laugh, eyes flicking down to his breakfast before he brought them back to Derek’s. “And I’m sorry, because I was trying to be less of a burden and I wound up being _more_ of one. And you’re right, I don’t want to wind up back in the hospital and I don’t want surgery. Needles and hospitals terrify me and the thought of someone cutting me open, even just to put part of me back together, makes me feel like I’m on the edge of a panic attack. So I...I’m not going to do that again, I promise.”

“Good.” Derek wished the word wasn’t so terse, but he hated the way Stiles looked; soft and vulnerable and terribly young.

As Derek turned back towards the door, Stiles spoke again, his voice little more than a whisper. “Please don’t stay mad at me. I...I _hate_ when you’re mad at me.” When Derek swiveled his head around, stunned, Stiles dropped his eyes and mumbled. “It fucks with the pack dynamics.”

Derek’s shoulders dropped, muscles he hadn’t realized he’d been holding tense relaxing in an instant. Because Stiles was right, but that wasn’t even the most important thing. Stiles was _acknowledging_ that their moods around each other affected the rest of the pack. _Packs,_ really, though it was Derek’s that mattered most to him in this context. Stiles had always downplayed his own role, with both packs. He’d always balanced between them, so careful to make it seem like he wasn’t a crucial part of how they functioned. For him to openly admit that how Derek felt towards him in any given moment affected the others...that was huge. It was _beyond_ huge.

“I’m not mad at you.” Derek sighed, moving to sit in the desk chair. Stiles shot him a disbelieving look and Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m pissed that you’d do something so stupid, but I’m always pissed off when you ignore your own safety and health. That’s nothing new. But I’m not really mad _at you._ If I had been, I’d have told your dad.”

“Oh.” Stiles chewed on his lip for a second, then asked. “Why do you care so much? If I get hurt, I mean.”

Derek studied Stiles for a minute, then shook his head. “Eat your breakfast, Stiles. Then, if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll move you downstairs and we can watch a movie.”

Stiles mouth did that funny twist again, but he nodded and picked up a strip of bacon, biting into it with gusto. He immediately scowled and pointed at Derek with the remains of it, speaking around his mouthful. “This is real bacon, Derek. Did you give this to my father?”

Lips twitching up at the corners, Derek said. “I would never do anything that would endanger your father’s health, Stiles. Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

Stiles hummed and resumed eating, though he kept shooting Derek narrow-eyed, suspicious looks. It was odd but Derek found he didn’t really mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek was extremely grateful, over the course of the following week, that Stiles seemed determined to keep his word. He called for Derek to help him dress in the mornings. He let Derek carry him down the stairs for breakfast without a fuss. They ate breakfast - cooked by Derek - with the Sheriff, since he usually got home from work around the time Stiles was done getting ready for school. Stiles had stopped fussing about Derek carrying him to and from the car at the house, and the car ride to school usually passed in relative silence except for the radio. Stiles got the wolves - from both packs - to take his pain during school hours, and let Derek do the same once they were home again, while he did his homework. After that, it was a bit of a crapshoot whether he’d take a pill or hold off until bedtime, but if he held off he always let Derek know if he was hurting so the alpha could help. While Stiles did homework, Derek would curl up with his book-of-choice for the day and get some reading in, always ready to mark his page if Stiles needed to use the bathroom or wanted something from the kitchen or upstairs.

Derek cooked dinner - much to the Sheriff’s delight, and Stiles’ growing annoyance with some of his choices - and he and Stiles had taken to watching movies or tv shows together once Stiles’ homework was done. When Stiles was ready for bed he took a painkiller, and sometimes a muscle relaxant, depending on how he was feeling; his thigh muscle had started cramping up and the doctor had given him the new meds to help. He let Derek carry him up the stairs, and Derek waited patiently outside the bathroom while Stiles used the facilities and brushed his teeth. Once he’d settled Stiles in for the night, Derek went downstairs and cleaned up the house so the Sheriff didn’t come home to a mess in the morning. By the time Derek dropped into bed at night, he was exhausted. It was worse if any of the packs’ members decided to come over, but given that it was the week before midterms, most of them were too busy studying to bother Stiles.

Derek was grateful for that, as well.

The quiet weekend was a blessing as well. Lydia dropped by to study with Stiles for a little while on Saturday, because no one else was taking Trigonometry. On Sunday, Malia and Cora came over, dragging Isaac with them, and they harassed Stiles into explaining Othello to them. Stiles sort of went on a twenty-minute rant about Iago’s motivations, and Derek had a feeling most of it went over his betas’ heads, but the other two and a half hours of their study session seemed pretty productive. Both Isaac and Malia seemed to understand the play _much_ better by the time they left. Derek had a feeling Cora had understood it well enough to begin with, but she was oddly protective of her cousin and Isaac and had probably lied to make them feel better about their own confusion. It was such an uncharacteristically sweet thing for her to do, that Derek couldn't bring himself to call her on it.

Derek wasn’t the only one who’d been hardened by the fire. Any hint of the soft, sweet, generous little girl who’d followed Derek around with stars in her eyes - declaring him _the bestest big brother in the world_ \- was a gift he had no intention of checking for teeth.

But Sunday evening, after dinner, the calm shattered.

Not all at once, because nothing with Stiles was ever quick or simple. Instead, the teen was more fidgety than usual. Tense, and uncomfortable, with hints of embarrassment and panic coloring his scent. But they went through the motions, pulling up a show on Netflix - _Buffy,_ because Stiles was nothing if not predictable and they were already on season 2 - and settling in on the couch to watch. Stiles’ feet were propped up on one of the armrests, to help keep his casted foot elevated, and Derek sat at the other end of the couch, letting Stiles recline against his side so he was more comfortable. Derek rested his cheek against Stiles’ head, and Stiles started the next episode.

Halfway through the second episode of the evening, Derek murmured. “You need to wash your hair. Your head smells like sweat.”

Stiles froze, his whole body going rigid, and Derek was instantly concerned. When Stiles picked the remote up from its resting place on his stomach and paused _Buffy,_ Derek’s concern only grew. He hadn’t meant to upset or offend the teen; had mostly been teasing, in his own way. Because yeah, Stiles’ hair smelled a little like sweat, but mostly he just smelled like himself. Lush and dark, like loam and the forest at its deepest points; like petrichor, and the relief rain brings after a drought; like something sharp and staticky, almost like lightning or ozone, that Derek knew was the spark of magic in Stiles’ blood. Stiles smelled _good,_ which was nothing new but also nothing Derek had ever felt the need to tell Stiles. He wondered absently if any of the others had ever told him...

Trying to mitigate the damage he’d apparently just done - unintentionally, but still - Derek said softly. “I was only teasing.”

Seconds after, Stiles’ cheeks turned pink and he mumbled. “I need help.”

For a few seconds, Derek just stared down at Stiles, who was determinedly _not_ looking at Derek. He studied the line of Stiles’ profile, and the embarrassed color tinting his pale skin, and the way every line of his body was tense and unhappy. Then, because Derek _still_ didn’t understand, he asked. “Help with what?”

Stiles mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “I...” He snapped it shut again and shot Derek a suspicious look, as though he thought maybe the alpha was fucking with him, but Derek honestly didn’t understand what was going on.

Finally, Stiles said slowly. “Showering. I need help. I can’t stand for long. Plus, I can’t get the cast wet. I can’t...I’ve just been sort of washing at the sink, but I...” Stiles trailed off, then sighed and admitted. “Isaac said it’s starting to become obvious - at least to the wolves - that I’m not showering properly. _So.”_

“Oh.” Derek’s voice was a little higher than he would have liked, but he was hoping Stiles was too embarrassed to notice. He could feel his ears burning; knew they were likely bright red, but couldn't do anything about it. Because this... _this_ was not something he’d anticipated.

“Do you...” Derek swallowed hard, because he did _not_ want to make this offer, but pushed on because Stiles’ feelings on it were the most important thing. “I can call Scott. If you...if that would be easier for you? To have him help, instead of me. If you want. If you’d be more comfortable. With that. With _him.”_

Stiles had twisted around a little while he’d been talking, so he was sort-of facing Derek, and it made it easy to watch disgust paint its way across Stiles’ face. “I, uh...really, _really_ don’t want Scott touching me while I’m naked, even in a _‘helping-you-cause-you’re-injured’_ sort of way. And I know he’d do it, if I asked, but it’s like...it would be weird and gross and things would be awkward for _ever_ after that, so I’d rather not.” Stiles snorted and added. “Our friendship barely survived us finding out he can smell when I’m horny. He gets weird about the stupidest shit sometimes, I swear.”

Derek wasn’t really sure how to reply to that. _’It doesn’t bother me when you smell aroused.’_ didn’t really seem appropriate; neither did, _‘You smell like arousal about eighty-five percent of the time, so you’d think he’d get used to it pretty quick.’_ Slightly better was, _‘He smells like it almost as often as you, so I don’t think he has any room to complain.’_ but he really didn’t want Stiles thinking he was tracking how often everyone was horny, so it was probably best if he _didn’t_ say that.

After a few seconds of vaguely awkward silence, Derek shrugged. “Do you want to wait until your dad is home? We can pick up one of those shower chairs so you can sit and he can help you...”

“I, uh...I mean, I _guess_ I could do that, but...” Stiles fidgeted restlessly. “I really just want to be clean, honestly.” His mouth twisted a little and he offered weakly. “I can keep my underwear on, if that would make you more willing to help me?”

“You...” Derek hesitated, because he’d been about to tell Stiles it was fine if he was naked, but...

But Stiles was still only seventeen, and Derek wasn’t sure he could handle seeing _all_ of Stiles on full display without losing control. And that was really as far into that train of thought as Derek was willing to let himself go, because _not until Stiles’ birthday, dammit._ So he took a cautious breath and said. “That might be more appropriate, considering your age.”

There; that had been suitably appropriate as a response.

Stiles looked at Derek with wide, hopeful eyes. “Wait, are you serious? You’re going to help me, for real?”

And Derek, god help him, said _yes._

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek was about 1000% sure he was in hell.

He wondered, in the small part of his brain that was still capable of higher thought, what he’d done to deserve this sort of punishment. Surely the mistakes he’d made hadn’t been _that_ bad, right? Surely the loss of his home and family was suffering enough for having trusted Kate. And nothing else he’d done had been _that_ heinous; that egregious of an error. Surely he didn’t deserve this sort of test to his control, and patience, and _sanity._

Because Derek had spent _every day_ since he’d first met Stiles in the woods, searching for an inhaler Scott would never need again, convincing himself that he wanted nothing from the boy but to make him pack. Reminding himself that, until the day Stiles turned eighteen, that was all Derek _could_ want, and therefore it was all he _would_ want. He had spent every day since then determinedly _not_ thinking about the things he wasn’t allowed to have; the things he wasn’t allowed to consider; the things he was absolutely _not allowed_ to want. And true, Derek occasionally had a passing thought that maybe crossed one of the imaginary lines Derek had drawn up in his head between what was appropriate and what was _not,_ but he’d always gotten himself away from those thoughts as quickly as possible. He’d never given anyone - not a single member of _either_ pack - any reason to suspect how he felt about Stiles.

Of course, Erica had somehow sussed it out anyway - she claimed it was because she knew what it felt like to be starry-eyed over Stiles, so she could see it better - and Derek had always gotten the impression that Lydia strongly suspected it as well, but she had preternatural perception thanks to being a banshee so Derek didn’t blame himself for that one. But he never confirmed his feelings, to either girl, and continued to keep himself strictly under control around Stiles. It was all he _could_ do, after all. And he’d been taught control his whole life; prided himself on it, because it had _not_ come easily to him, at all. He’d had to work harder at it than all of his siblings combined, and it had been hard-won when he’d finally gained it. He would _not_ sacrifice it at the altar of a teenage boy.

At least, that’s what Derek had been telling himself. Now...well, now he wasn’t so sure.

Because Stiles was _gorgeous._

Derek was waiting in the hallway, stripped down to a grey guinea tee and a pair of black boxer-briefs. Stiles finally opened the bathroom door, face and neck and chest a warm pink that was clearly from embarrassment. He was wearing nothing but a pair of...jesus, Derek didn’t even know what to _call_ them. Bikini-briefs, maybe? They were black, and satiny-looking, and they clung to him in a way that had Derek biting clean through his tongue to prevent himself from whining pitifully at the sight. The coppery tang of blood flooding his mouth helped center Derek, and he cleared his throat, nodding towards the toilet. Stiles obligingly hopped over to it and carefully sat down, casted-leg fully extended. Derek locked his eyes on the ceiling until he was certain Stiles was sitting, refusing to let himself look at Stiles’ ass in nothing but skimpy underwear.

“So, cast covers....” Stiles said weakly, and he tapped a package that was sitting next to him, on the vanity. “Also, the doctor told me I should wrap a towel or a washcloth or something around the top of my cast, to make sure that absolutely _no_ water can get inside it, even if the cover rips or something. I guess even a little water under the cast can give me a skin infection, or something.”

“Okay.” Derek knew his voice was a little lower - a little bit more _rumbly_ \- than usual, but he couldn't do much about it.

Because he couldn't, Derek did the only thing he _could_ do. He picked up the cast-covers and took one out, then crouched down in front of Stiles, setting the cover on the floor next to him. Keeping his eyes locked firmly on the various colorful scrawling names and doodles decorating the cast, Derek took the hand towel Stiles was holding out to him and tucked it into the _very slight_ gap between the cast and Stiles’ skin. He actually used his claws to do it, because they were thinner than his fingers, and had to go extra-slowly to ensure he didn’t accidentally cut Stiles or tear the cast. Stiles seemed to be holding his breath, but Derek figured that was fair enough when you had werewolf claws against your skin so he didn’t say anything and put his claws away as soon as he could in an attempt to put Stiles at ease. Once he had one edge of the towel tucked in, he used the rest of it to cover the top of the cast, securing it with a rubber band Stiles had had around his wrist. For this purpose or some other reason, Derek wasn’t sure; he didn’t bother asking.

Once he was sure the towel was as secure as it was going to get, Derek picked the cover back up and looked at it for a minute. Then he took the package and read the directions, three times in rapid succession. Once he was sure about what he had to do, Derek carefully spread the flexible diaphragm and slipped it over Stiles’ cast. When he reached the top, he pulled it up a little higher, manfully ignoring the creamy flesh his fingers were just-barely touching. It had been easier when he’d been focused on keeping his claws away from it, but he did the best he could without that distraction. He slowly dragged the diaphragm back down, until it was resting just an inch above the top of Stiles’ cast.

Then, though his wolf howled out a vicious protest, Derek removed his hands from Stiles’ leg.

Stiles cleared his throat as Derek stood and moved away, eyes locked on a tile on the far wall. It had a crack running through it, which was far safer to look at than every inch of pale, mole-dotted flesh on display in front of him. Stiles was lithe, and long-limbed, and Derek curled his hands into fists in a desperate effort to _not touch._ He had never been so tempted before. A silent reminder to himself of Stiles’ age had always been enough to curb any twinges of want; any flickers of desire. After what had happened with Kate...

Well, Derek couldn't be _that person._ Couldn't stand the thought that anyone might even _think_ he would ever be _that person._ Because Kate had been _that person_ and she’d made Derek afraid of sex - afraid of _touch_ \- for more years than he cared to admit to. Because when Laura had reached for him, heartbroken and terrified and desperate for the only pack she had left, Derek had cringed away; had curled into himself to escape her; had screamed and thrashed and hurt them _both_ when she’d pushed closer, trying to comfort - him, and herself. Because he’d taken _so long_ to accept touch from the pack he’d built, terrified of what might follow; terrified that gentleness could turn to cruelty - to _pain_ \- in an instant if he wasn’t constantly on guard.

Derek’s fear of touch had started before the fire, even; had started when he’d still naively believed Kate loved him back. Had started the first time she’d curled her manicured nails into talons and raked them down his belly with enough force to make him bleed, licking the droplets away with a pleased hum. Had grown every time she pulled his hair while directing him on the best way to please her; to make her come. Had expanded by leaps and bounds every time she caused him even the _smallest_ pain, because she always made it feel good first, and after, and _between_ the hurts; because she made sure he couldn't tell the difference anymore, one always chasing the other, around and around and around, until they blended seamlessly into one stream of sensation.

Derek had been too young to understand that what she was doing was wrong. Too wrapped up in her beauty and the lies she whispered without a single uptick in her heart to realize that she should never have touched him, regardless of her other intentions. Too naive and too sheltered to know that no one who _really_ loved him would have laid a hand on him before he was old enough to make that sort of choice.

Kate had stolen more from Derek than his family, though that was what most people thought of first; was her _biggest_ crime. No, first she had stolen a hundred small, seemingly inconsequential things. Each one taken with sweet words, and kisses, and presses of skin; with passion, and pain, and _needneedneed._ Kate had seen Derek’s innocence, and coveted it, and in coveting she had opted to destroy rather than preserve. She had deemed Derek unworthy of it, and had delighted in ripping it away one piece at a time.

Derek _would not_ do that to anyone else; not in any way, shape, or form. Would not make the first move; would not make Stiles feel even a _hint_ of pressure; would not _covet_ or _want._ Most definitely would not _take._ If Stiles didn’t come to him, then that would be that. The only thing Derek had decided to allow was that, after Stiles’ birthday, he would let Stiles know he was interested. But it would be done in a way that put the choice in Stiles’ hands, irrevocably. It was the only way Derek could live with himself.

The sudden touch of slim fingers against his wrist had him jumping back. Stiles was staring up at him with wide eyes, concern etched into the lines of his face. “You okay, big guy? You’re, uh...you’re dripping blood on the floor, like you’ve got your claws digging into your palms or something...?”

Derek slowly uncurled his hands and felt the skin knit itself back together. He glanced down at blood-streaked palms, and wondered a little at the fact that it hadn’t hurt at all. He probably wouldn’t have even noticed, if Stiles hadn’t said something. “Sorry.” Derek said gruffly. “I was thinking about something unpleasant.”

Stiles nodded slowly, as though he wasn’t sure if he believed Derek or not.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Derek muttered, stepping into the shower and fiddling with the controls until the water was coming out nice and hot.

Stiles got himself standing again, then hopped the handful of steps over to the shower door. He seemed to steel himself before saying. “Just...don’t let me fall, okay?”

“I won’t.” Derek promised, then he reached out and curled his hands around Stiles’ biceps and carefully lifted the teenager over the small step and into the shower stall.

Stiles gaped at Derek as he pulled the door shut. “I can’t believe you just lifted me like I was a doll.”

Derek shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? If you’d tried to hop into here, you probably would’ve fallen and smashed your head against the tiles.” When Stiles opened his mouth - no doubt intending to argue - Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. “Just wash yourself, please, Stiles. I’d rather not spend the whole night in the shower.”

Stiles took the detachable shower head and quickly wet his hair, all of his weight on his good leg. After getting some shampoo, he leaned his back against the shower wall, letting it take some of his weight as he lathered his hair. Derek watched as the teen immediately hissed in discomfort at the cold tile against his back, pulling away again quickly. Derek frowned as Stiles put all of his weight back on his left leg. Stiles hadn't been very steady to begin with and now he was swaying a little, like he was already getting tired. Small hints of pain were coloring his scent as well, making Derek wonder if being upright was causing Stiles' muscles to spasm again.

“Maybe this was a bad idea...” Stiles muttered, even as he worked soapy fingers through his hair, eyes closed and face scrunched with frustration. “I should've just waited and gotten a stupid chair.”

And as much as Derek knew he shouldn't - as much as he knew it was _so wrong_ \- he couldn't stand seeing his pack-mate in distress. Besides, he was supposed to be _helping,_ wasn't he?

So Derek took a calming breath, then stepped up behind Stiles. He wound his right arm around Stiles' waist, fingers curling against Stiles' left hip, the sharp jut of his bone pressing into Derek's palm like a tease. Stiles had sucked in a startled breath and gone still against him, but Derek ignored it in favor of encouraging Stiles to lean back, using his arm to take most of Stiles' weight. Stiles sighed softly, seeming to melt against Derek between one heartbeat and the next, warm and slick and pliant in Derek's arms.

“Fuck, that's better...” Stiles' words were soft and breathy and colored with relief, even as he tipped his head back against Derek's shoulder and resumed working soap through his hair. “Thanks, Der...you're the _best.”_

“It's nothing.” Derek rumbled, doing his best not to look down the length of Stiles' body. He kept his eyes locked on the far wall of the shower, and the water dripping down it from where the shower head was pointed. So scattered was his focus, he didn't even think before he added. “That's what pack does.”

There was a pause, where Derek silently cursed his errant tongue and Stiles stopped lathering his hair. Then, Stiles reached blindly for the sprayer and started rinsing the soap off his hair. He still hadn't said anything, and Derek wondered if maybe he just... _wouldn't._ If he would hold the same non-confirmation/non-denial pattern he'd always held with Scott, remaining steadfastly balanced between the two packs; the two alphas. His best friend and...and _Derek._ Derek, who had no _real_ claim on the boy, other than all of the times they'd saved each other's lives and the quiet sort of camaraderie that had sprung up between them somewhere along the way. And, of course, the fact that Derek desperately wanted to make Stiles his mate at some point in the future. Which he was _not_ thinking about, especially not while a mostly-naked and very wet Stiles was pressed all along his front, because now was _not a good time for a boner._

The faceful of soapy water he got as Stiles rinsed his hair helped him regain some control, if only because for several agonizing seconds he felt like he was _going blind._ Derek had had no idea soap in your eyes could hurt like that, and he grit his teeth against it while blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He also turned his face away, trying to prevent further incidents. Thankfully, Stiles' hair was short and it didn't take him long to rinse all of the soap out of it. And, efficient as always, Stiles had been using the hand _not_ holding the shower head to scrub at his neck, and chest, and shoulders, and belly while the soapy water ran down his body.

Finally, Stiles straightened up, pulling away from Derek's body and passing him the shower head. Derek took it silently, unsure what was going on, and watched in confusion as Stiles leaned against the wall in front of them. He braced his forearms on the cool tile, shivering a little at the cold, then glanced over his shoulder at Derek. Water beaded on long lashes and those wide, tawny eyes blinked hopefully at him.

“Wash my back for me?”

Derek nodded numbly, his brain filled with static at the idea of running soap-slicked hands over Stiles' slim back; tracing the line of that long, elegant spine; counting the moles and freckles that dotted all of that pale skin as his fingers drifted over them. Swallowing hard, Derek reached for the body wash Stiles usually smelled like. Stiles turned his face into his arms, letting his upper body and the wall take some of his weight, and Derek sternly reminding himself to be quick and efficient for the sake of Stiles' well-being. Lingering wasn't an option; he would _not_ cause Stiles more pain, however inadvertently.

“There's...” Derek's voice was low and raspy, so he paused to clear his throat before trying again. “There's no washcloth and your shower puff is gone...”

“Really?” Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I'm not sure where it got to. Maybe dad moved it when he cleaned the bathroom, I dunno.” He shrugged a little, then added. “Just use your hands.”

Derek didn’t say anything; didn’t trust his voice not to give away far more than he was comfortable with Stiles knowing for the moment. So he just put some body wash on his hands, and rubbed them together, cursing silently when it made them slick but didn’t create much of a lather. This...this was going to be horrible. Derek was suddenly _positive_ that there was no possible way this could end in anything other than disaster. He _did_ spare a moment to say a silent thank you to whatever higher power might be listening that Stiles was _not_ a werewolf; that the teen couldn't smell Derek’s arousal. He was equally grateful that Stiles was turned away from him, eyes tucked snug against the crook of one elbow, because his underwear - water-soaked as they were - weren’t doing much of anything to hide his growing cock.

Stiles wiggled his hips a little, voice muffled and echoey at the same time because of the way his face was tucked in against the tiles. “Come _on,_ Der. I can’t stand like this forever, man. My leg hurts.”

Derek settled his hands on Stiles’ waist, just above the satiny black fabric covering his ass. Doing his best to keep his eyes off those delectable curves, barely concealed by wet fabric, Derek ran soap-slick hands up Stiles’ back. He couldn't help letting his fingers dig in, seeking out tension and knotted muscles, as he went. Stiles didn’t seem to mind, letting out a breathless sort of groan and pushing up into Derek’s hands like a cat in heat. Which was probably _not_ the sort of mental comparison Derek should be making, all things considered. It was hard enough as it was to not press closer; to not tug that skimpy covering out of the way and just rut against Stiles’ perfectly presented backside.

Instead, Derek focused on Stiles’ back and shoulders. Once he felt he’d done the best he could to relax those locked-up muscles, Derek grabbed the shower head he’d let go of and carefully rinsed Stiles free of soap. It was as he was doing that, that the scent of arousal - strong and spicy-sweet and _not his own_ \- hit him. He sucked in a stunned breath, so audible it was practically a gasp, and froze. A few seconds later, he couldn't resist leaning in, _just a little,_ and breathing in deeply through his nose; thoroughly scenting Stiles and knowing it was _his touch_ that had put that scent in the steamy air.

Stiles stuttered out a nervous laugh, glancing over his shoulder at Derek again even as he straightened away from the wall. Derek was forced to back up a step, unless he wanted Stiles pressed all along his front again. Which he _did,_ except he couldn't afford to have his cock pressed against Stiles’ ass, no matter how much he wanted it. No matter how much it seemed like _Stiles_ wanted it. The teen’s face was flushed, wet hair spiked up erratically. His eyes were languid. Heavy-lidded, pupils blows wide as he briefly sunk his teeth into his lower lip, lashes sweeping down to hide those whiskey eyes before he peeked up at Derek from under them sheepishly.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles let out another laugh, as husky as his voice had been. “I haven’t been, um...well, _you know.”_ He made a crude sort of gesture with one hand, rolling his eyes at himself even as he kept his body facing away from Derek. Whose modesty he was trying to preserve, Derek wasn’t entirely sure. “Anyway, I haven’t been, in deference to your super-hearing, so I...I’m a little, uh... _on edge,_ you know? I wasn’t trying to perv on you, or creep you out, or anything. You’re just, like...well, you’re arguably the hottest person I’ve ever seen in real life, and you were _touching me,_ and...”

“Stiles.” Derek cut him off. Partly because he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Stiles ramble, but also because Stiles was basically saying he was just super-horny and his reaction hadn’t had much to do with _Derek_ at all, except that he happened to be the one present. “It’s fine. I’m sure you would’ve reacted similarly to anyone who was helping you shower. You know, except your dad.”

“First off, bringing up my dad when I have a boner is uncool.” Stiles scowled, though his eyes were sparkling and Derek could tell he wasn’t angry. “Second off, _no._ I mean, I know you guys can smell when I’m aroused so this can _not_ be the first time you’ve noticed me reacting to you. I was just trying to apologize because if I’d been able jerk off, like, _at all_ in the last couple of weeks, I definitely would’ve been thinking about dead kittens or Finstock in short-shorts to keep from making the shower-thing weird. You’re helping me out, and I don’t think me mindlessly humping the shower wall because a super-hot nearly naked _you_ is touching me is really an appropriate way to say _thanks for the help,_ you know? So. Sorry, about making it weird.”

And Derek was having trouble forming a reply to that, for a couple of reasons. One, because Stiles had just admitted that his current arousal was Derek-specific, and also because he’d admitted to Derek-specific arousal at multiple moments in the past. Also, because he could quite clearly picture Stiles rutting against the tiles, and it swiftly morphed into imagining what it would be like if he pulled Stiles back against his chest again. If he pushed Stiles’ bikini-briefs down, and slicked his hand with more body wash, then curled it around Stiles’ cock. If Stiles melted back against him again, and pushed his hips up, fucking into Derek’s fist. If Stiles was writhing in his arms, pert ass rubbing against Derek’s own erection. If Stiles was moaning and panting and begging for more; begging Derek to make him come. If he took the time to mark Stiles’ throat with his mouth while he coaxed the teen to orgasm; made him paint his belly and Derek’s hand and the shower wall with come; made him scream his pleasure loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

Derek was sure his face was bright red; was certain his eyes were flashing; could feel the claws tipping his fingers. It showed on Stiles’ face as he watched Derek, and the alpha wondered how he was supposed to explain. Then Stiles’ eyes were drifting down the length of Derek’s body, and Derek had Stiles’ chin caught in his hand a second later, preventing him from looking low enough to see Derek’s arousal. Stiles sucked in a startled breath, and Derek tried to think of something - _anything_ \- to say.

After a minute, Stiles cleared his throat and said in a rushed sort of babble. “Oh-kay. How about we just...chalk this up to, like...you’re frustrated because you haven’t been, uh... _taking care of yourself_ either, right? Cause you’re staying here and you’re a polite houseguest or whatever, I dunno. And uh, I was just...talking about sex-stuff like an idiot, when we’re both mostly naked. And wet. And _really_ close to each other, oh my god, and I’m doing it _again,_ I’m _so sorry._ And like, it must smell like arousal in here, and it’s a closed in space and, like...right. This is just...it’s one hundred percent understandable, and we can just...pretend it didn’t happen. At all.”

Derek knew he should be grateful for the out - should take it and run with it - but Stiles had been _painfully_ honest with Derek about his own arousal, despite his clear embarrassment. It wouldn’t be fair to repay that with lies or half-truths or even omissions.

“I’m not that polite of a houseguest.” And yeah, okay, that was sort of a weird thing to open with, but it was what slipped out of Derek’s mouth first and there was no taking it back once he had said it. So he just...kept talking.

“You’re allowed to jerk off, Stiles. I won’t...” Derek stopped, took a moment to regain control, then continued more truthfully. “I’ll _try_ not to listen, but I...I’ll admit, it won’t be easy for me. And yes, it smells like arousal in here; like yours, and like mine, and it’s twisted together, and it’s making it _very hard_ for me to remember that you’re not legal yet. So is the sight of you, flushed and damp and, _Jesus,_ Stiles, where did you even get those underwear?”

“Uh...from Phoenix.” Stiles admitted, staring at Derek with an odd combination of lust and surprise. “She’s a drag queen and one of the handful of non-pack friends I have. She and the other girls take me to Jungle sometimes, to dance. She bought them for me for my birthday last year, so I had something that didn’t _ruin the line of my jeans,_ as she puts it. She said boxers bunch and hide my ass.”

“Oh.” Derek huffed, then muttered. “She’s probably right, but I kind of hate the idea of you dancing while a bunch of men stare at your ass.”

Stiles blinked, then asked weakly. “Are you _jealous?”_ When Derek shrugged, Stiles laughed softly, a goofy sort of smile curving his lips. “That should piss me off, because you’ve never shown the slightest bit of interest in me, but I mostly just think it’s really sweet that you think random people might be attracted to me. Also, Phoenix and the girls always make it clear I’m jailbait _and_ the Sheriff’s kid, so. No worries. I am as untouched as ever.”

Derek stared at Stiles for a moment, then said softly. “You’re seventeen, Stiles. I didn’t show interest because I’m not _allowed_ to be interested in you. Not...not like that. Not yet. I...I _can’t.”_

Stiles head tipped to the side as he studied Derek. After a moment, he finally turned around, slowly and with great care. He let his body slump back against the tile, and said softly. “You _can,_ you just _won’t._ Because of Kate. Because there’s six years between us, and six years between you and her, and the parallels certainly aren’t lost on me any more than they are on you. Which I totally get, except for a couple of key points you seem to be forgetting.”

“What points?” Derek asked, not even wasting time being surprised that Stiles had figured out the things he’d never said, about Kate and the fire and all of it. Stiles had always been too clever for his own good, let alone anyone else’s. “Because nothing changes your age, Stiles, or mine. Nothing changes what it would say about me, if I didn’t wait.”

Stiles huffed this time, rolling his eyes. “God, you’re melodramatic. And look, I _get it,_ okay? Kate was a creepy, psychotic cunt. She basically bad-touched you, because she had every intention of murdering your entire family while she was deliberately seducing you into telling her everything you knew. She was a horrible human being, because she took advantage of someone who was naive, and innocent; someone who didn’t have a scheming, malicious bone in their body and so wouldn’t suspect someone else of that sort of treachery.” And Derek might have cringed away from what Stiles was saying, except that Stiles’ tone was soft and gentle, despite how matter-of-fact his words were.

“Her whole sick little love-fest plan relied on you being too trusting to see through her, and that’s on _her,_ not you, because you should _never_ feel guilty for seeing the best in people.” Stiles continued, sincere in a way he very rarely was. “But Derek, you aren’t her. You’re still _you._ You’re still that good, kind, sees-the-best-in-people person that you were when Kate got her hands on you. I mean, you’re a lot more guarded now, and you cover up the sweet parts with growling and scowls, but...but under it all, you’re still _you._ And more than the fact that you aren’t Kate, what you’re forgetting is that _I’m not you.”_

Stiles hopped a little closer, reaching out and steadying himself against Derek’s chest - palms pressed flat to Derek’s pecs - when he nearly fell over. Derek instinctively grabbed Stiles’ waist to help support him, then let go again just as swiftly. “Stiles...” His tone was less stern than he would have liked - not enough admonishment and too much pleading - but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“I’m serious.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes again. “I’m not some innocent, sheltered little lamb, being led astray by a big bad wolf, okay? I’d watched my mom die, slowly, piece by piece, before I turned nine. I knew, even when Scott didn’t, that his dad was a drunk who once pushed him down the stairs; that’s why Melissa finally threw him out. I knew _my dad_ was an alcoholic, after mom died. I learned to cook and do the grocery shopping when I was in middle school, because it was do that or go hungry because Dad was too far in a bottle to remember to feed himself let alone me.

 _“I_ am the one who went looking for _half of a dead body_ in the woods that night Scott got bitten by Peter.” Stiles pressed on, still far too close to Derek and showing no intention of backing away any time soon. “I didn’t think about the fact that the body was a _person_ once. I’ve always been the first to suggest we kill a threat, or torture someone for information, or break whatever laws and cause whatever chaos or pain necessary to handle things as expediently as possible. I am _not_ some fragile thing in need of protecting. I’m not the sort of person who gets made into someone’s victim, Derek. I’m just _not._ And you’ve got to get the possibility that you could do that to me out of your head, because it’s just...not possible, okay? Not just because of who _you_ are, but because of who _I_ am. I need you to understand that.”

Derek shook his head, because some of what Stiles was saying made sense but...but Stiles was still a minor. It was still illegal. And he was still six years older than Stiles; was still the _adult_ in the situation, regardless of everything Stiles had been through. It was...it was more _complicated_ than Stiles was trying to make it. “It’s not that simple.” He said, still shaking his head, determined to make Stiles understand. “You’re still a minor. I’m still the adult. I _can’t_ take advantage of you that way.”

Stiles sighed, looking annoyed. “Okay, look, we’re going to keep talking about this because you’re a stubborn asshole and it’s driving me _crazy,_ but my leg is seriously about to give out under me so we are going to continue this _in my room_ and not in the shower. Sound good?”

And of course, Derek immediately flipped off the water and grabbed towels, wrapping one around Stiles’ waist and the other around his own. He hastily stripped off the soaked guinea tee he was wearing, to minimize water dripping everywhere. He hung it over the shower door before helping Stiles strip off his bikini-briefs. Derek made sure the towel was still covering Stiles, and he refused to touch the wet fabric until it was at the middle of Stiles’ thighs, for the sake of his own sanity. Stiles rolled his eyes, but cooperated. Once Derek had hung up Stiles’ underwear - and Stiles had dried his legs - he carefully removed the cast-cover. After that, it was just a matter of untucking the towel from the top of Stiles’ cast.

Once that was done, Derek scooped Stiles up into his arms and headed for the teen’s room, doing his level best to ignore the fact that the only thing preventing him from having an utterly naked teenage boy in his arms was a damp towel. Once he’d set Stiles down, he sat himself in the computer chair, which was about as far away as he could get in the small room. Stiles looked exasperated and amused at the same time. Derek wasn’t sure how he felt about that combination of emotions being directed at him, but he stayed silent about it.

After several minutes of silence, Stiles asked. “What’s the age-gap between you and Peter? I’ve always wondered, but he never gives me a straight answer.”

“I don’t know.” Derek admitted, shrugging. “Six years? Eight? He’s close to Kate’s age, I _think._ Maybe a little older, but he’s definitely younger than Chris, and there’s, like...seven or eight years between Chris and Kate.” After a few seconds of thought, he said slowly. “I think...I think he was fifteen, when Malia was conceived or born or...I don’t know, something.”

“Nine years, then, between you two.” Derek shrugged again, and Stiles said thoughtfully. “Means there’s four or five years between him and Chris. Okay, that works for what I’m about to say.” He raised an eyebrow at Derek and asked. “If Chris had been psychotic like Kate, and tried the same thing on Peter that Kate pulled with you, when Peter was sixteen...assuming Peter was attracted to Chris, would it have worked?”

Derek swallowed hard, because he had a feeling he knew where Stiles was going with this, but he admitted. “No, probably not. Peter was always too...too conniving, to be taken in. He might have let Chris fuck him. Might have let the whole thing drag on for as long as he was enjoying himself. But he...he never would have _trusted_ an Argent, no matter what they said or did to try to prove themselves. And it would have been his choice, from the beginning, how far things went. He’d have seen right through any schemes or seductions.”

Stiles nodded, smiling widely now. “And who, out of everyone you know, is the most like Peter? You know, minus the serial killer moments.”

And again, Derek could have lied, but he’d never liked lying to Stiles. Avoided doing it, whenever possible. So he said softly. “You. The two of you have the same suggestions on how to handle problems, most of the time. You two think in similar ways. It’s...almost unnerving, actually. I think it’s why he likes you so much.”

"Probably." Stiles admitted, looking a little smug about the whole thing. "I always figured that was why he offered me the bite, way back in the beginning when he was still the alpha."

There was a pause, then Stiles asked softly. "Do you see what I'm saying now? About how, in this scenario, there's _no way_ for you to be Kate? I'm too much like Peter. I'm not the victim here, and I'm never going to be. You can't force me or trick me or pressure me into something I want. Something I've wanted for a while now, if I'm being honest. And if Erica and Lydia had told me sooner that you wanted the same thing, we'd have had this conversation a lot sooner."

"They...told you." Derek swallowed hard, because _fuck_ he hated those girls sometimes. But also, it had gotten him this moment - where Stiles was telling him things he'd only had the vaguest hope of hearing before - so he was also sort of grateful. It was a mixed bag, really. "What did they tell you?"

Stiles grinned, a wicked sort of gleam in his eyes. "Well, now, that varies depending on which one of them you're talking about. Lydia said something to the effect that you want to marry me and have my babies and be sickeningly in love for the rest of forever. Erica said something about you wanting to bone me on every available surface, as often as possible, and considering I'm a teenager and you're a werewolf, I'm guessing that's pretty often."

Derek stared at him, and Stiles' smile softened as he added, "I'm completely on-board with either of those, just so you know. Or both, ideally. But, you know, we might want to hold off on the babies for a few years, since we're both still pretty young."

"I'm not going to have sex with you while you have a broken leg." Derek finally said, though it wasn't necessarily what he'd _meant_ to say.

He'd planned on saying that Stiles was too young to make the sort of commitment he was joking about; too young to decide if he wanted to be an alpha's mate. Stiles had college to think about, and a career to choose. He had to decide if he even wanted to stay a part of the supernatural world. If he wanted to, Stiles could leave Beacon Hills and all of the things he'd learned about behind. He could have a _normal_ life. It wasn't something a lot of people had a chance at, once they learned what was _really_ lurking in the shadows, but for Stiles...well, it was an option, anyway. And Derek didn't know if Stiles was ready to make that choice.

But Stiles was laughing at Derek's comment, cheeks flushed with happiness at the humorous reply. "I bet I could convince you to reconsider that, if I tried."

"This isn't a negotiation." Derek retorted.

"Oh-ho; those are your _‘I’m serious’_ eyebrows." Stiles wiggled his own in reply, not put off in the slightest by the grumpy look Derek was giving him. "Are you trying to intimidate me? Because I gotta say, that doesn't really work on me anymore. Now, if you want to _bargain..."_

"No sex until you're healed." Derek repeated, because he didn't know what else to say. "And also, not until we've talked some more. About...about what this would mean. You, with me. It would change things, for everyone. I need to be sure you understand what you're agreeing to, if we do this. I need to make sure you know what it really means, being an alpha's mate."

There was another - slightly shorter - pause, then Stiles spoke softly. "You called me pack. Before, in the shower. I wasn't sure I wanted to say anything about it, but I..." Derek held his breath while Stiles gathered his thoughts, finally saying. "You've never called me pack before. Do you...do you really consider me pack?"

"I've always considered you pack." Because apparently, tonight was a night of confessions and if Derek was in, he might as well be _all-in._ "Scott always claimed you as his, but you never actually agreed. You never actually _made a choice._ And you've always felt like _mine._ I didn't say anything, because if you'd replied that you were Scott's...if you'd chosen him as your alpha instead of me..."

"It would have hurt you."

And that was true, but it wasn't the _whole_ truth. "Yes, of course. But it also would have meant I had to negotiate with Scott to make you my mate. He could have asked for anything he wanted. Control of the territory, an exchange of one or more of my betas...whatever he deemed fair-trade in exchange for losing you to me; for letting you join my pack."

"Um, excuse me?" And oh shit; that was Stiles _pissed-off_ face. "Forgive me for paraphrasing a fucking Disney princess here, but, I'm not some sort of prize! I don't get to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, regardless of who I claim as my alpha. Are we perfectly fucking clear on that?"

"That's not what I meant."

Derek did his best to keep his voice low and soothing, despite the panic clawing at the inside of his throat. Because when Stiles got angry, he could be cutting and scathing and petty. But when he was _furious,_ like he was now, he could be downright _vicious._ Stiles had a mean streak a mile wide when he wanted to, and he didn't pull punches when he thought somebody deserved whatever he was dishing out. Stiles could be incredibly creative when it came to punishing someone he thought had wronged him, and he'd never hesitated to do just that. He also had an innate sense for what would hurt a person the most. Derek had been fortunate enough to stay on Stiles' good side, for the most part. The few times he'd made Stiles _really_ mad, he'd always managed to apologize and set things right before anything had gotten out of hand. And now, when he was _so close_ to having Stiles at last - and when he'd just told Stiles the best way to hurt him - he was terrified that he'd managed to fuck it all up.

"So what did you mean?" And okay, that wasn't Stiles' pissed-off face anymore, and it wasn't his, _'I'm planning the best way to eviscerate you.'_ voice, either. That was Stiles being thoughtful; considering; analytical. Derek could work with that.

"There's things you don't know yet, about pack dynamics and werewolf traditions." Derek explained, and he didn't mean that badly. It was just that Stiles was a human who'd grown up not knowing the supernatural existed, so he couldn't _possibly_ know everything after just a couple of years. "I know Scott doesn't know everything yet either, but you can bet if I tried to make one of his pack members my mate, Deaton would fill him in on exactly what he should be doing about that."

"Which is setting a price on me?" Stiles asked, his tone going a little sharp around the edges. "Like we're in some sort of historical romance novel and I'm the bride being sold to form an alliance or some bullshit like that? Because regardless of if I'd decided to choose an alpha - something _everyone,_ even Scott, knows I've avoided doing, for my _own_ reasons - I can tell you right now that the _only_ person who gets a say in whether or not I become your mate, is _me._ And I don't appreciate the implication that someone else _should_ get a say."

Derek shook his head again, leaning forward in the computer chair. He braced his elbows on his knees, upper body angling closer to Stiles as he tried to make him understand something he himself had simply grown up always knowing. "Again, that's _not_ what I mean. It's not that Scott could stop you from becoming my mate. Not if it's what you wanted to do. It's not even that I'd be asking for his blessing. It's that...that an alpha's mate is the _most_ precious member of a pack. They rule _with_ the alpha, and they're pretty much irreplaceable, as far as the hierarchy goes. If my second-in-command leaves for another pack, or if they die, or if they simply want to step down...that's fine, because I can choose another second from my betas. If another beta decides to leave the pack, or dies, I can make more. I can bring in omegas, or turn people. My other betas can marry outside the pack, bringing in people that way. Children can be born, further expanding the pack. As much as the loss of a pack member hurts, it won't _break_ a pack.

"But the loss of the alpha's mate?" Derek shook his head, face earnest. "Stiles, an alpha shares their power with their mate. My betas will obey my mate, the same way they'd obey me. A mate - even a human one - can tap into the alpha's power; can borrow their strength, their speed, even their ability to turn someone. It's the highest honor, and the greatest risk to an alpha. Because if something happens to an alpha's mate, the alpha almost always goes feral. The snap-back of their power - the way it's no longer tethered to their mate - drives them mad."

"Oh." Stiles sounded awed; almost like he'd never been more flattered in his life. "I-it would really make you go all...rogue alpha? Losing me?"

"If you're my mate, absolutely." Because Derek wasn't going to sugar-coat this. "Which means you'll need to take better care of yourself. No more rushing headlong into danger. No more putting yourself in harm's way to keep other pack members safe. You _have_ to let them protect you, because that's the only way to protect _the pack._ It's not easy, standing down when your family is at risk, but it's a sacrifice the alpha's mate has to be willing to make, no matter what."

When Stiles nodded slowly, Derek continued trying to explain. "Because of this - because of how _important_ an alpha's mate is - when an alpha chooses one from outside their pack, there's all sorts of traditions. The pack the mate is from knows how important they are, and that they'll be cared for, and protected. That they’ll be provided for. Alpha mates are _always_ taken care of, in every way. But, as a sign of good faith, the alpha gives their mate's pack a...a _concession._ Sort of like a formal thank you. Because no pack will stop someone from becoming an alpha’s chosen mate, but in every other circumstance, an alpha can fight another for the right to _keep_ their betas. The concession is an acknowledgement of the mate's former alpha standing down. It's just... _polite."_

Stiles snorted. "You can't just send them a thank you card and be done with it?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "These are old traditions, Stiles. They go back thousands of years, and they're as much a part of how packs function as our alpha-spark and the pack bonds that strengthen us as a unit. If you formally acknowledge Scott as your alpha and later choose to become my mate, then he has the right to ask for a concession. If he does, and I _refuse_ whatever it is he asks for, then he can challenge me for the territory. And as it stands, I don't know who would win that fight. But I do know that a lot of the people in _both_ of our packs would wind up hurt. That's not something I want to see happen."

Stiles sighed, slumping back against his pillows. "Look, I haven't claimed him as my alpha because I don't _feel_ like he's my alpha. I've never followed his orders, because I don't think he's right more than twenty-five percent of the time. And also because he's kind of stupid about a lot of things. So. I can't bring myself to just...be in that position, where I’m expected to follow his orders or, god forbid, enforce them as his second. And I _know_ he thinks of me as part of his pack, but I just...I can't get myself there. So. No worries about a concession."

"You don't follow _my_ orders, either." Derek pouted a little, feeling put-out by this fact.

"No. No, I don't." Stiles laughed, and Derek pouted more. "Awww...don't feel bad, Sourwolf. I don't follow _anyone's_ orders. I'm just...not good at that."

Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles seemed to briefly consider the ceiling before he said. “I know I don’t follow orders - or even directions - very well. So I never said you were my alpha, because I didn’t want to wind up in a position where I felt like I had to disobey, despite what pack hierarchy dictated.” Stiles glanced over at Derek and added quietly. “If I’m going to be your mate - if I’m going to be your _equal_ \- then that’s different. And of course you’re my alpha. You’ve _always_ been my alpha. I knew that the moment you put yourself between me and Peter, what you honestly believed to be the last of your family, the night we realized he was the alpha. You were willing to kill him, if it meant keeping me safe. You weren’t an alpha yet, but you were _mine._ I just...never knew how to tell you, when I couldn't promise obedience.”

“I’d never have demanded obedience. Not from _you.”_ Derek offered, because he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to convey the joy he felt at Stiles words; didn’t know how to express what it meant to him to suddenly be able to _feel_ Stiles through a pack bond. “I always knew I wanted you for my mate, so I’d never have asked the same things of you. I never will, even if it’s years before you’re officially my mate.”

Stiles smiled, a little dopily, and asked. “Can you feel that, too? There’s this funny tugging, inside me, right under my breastbone. It tells me where you are, I think; tells me how to find you. And I...I can _feel_ that you’re happy right now. Like, your face is all blank, like usual, with your surly eyebrows, but I _know_ you’re happy.” When Derek didn’t say anything right away, Stiles’ smile dropped as he said. “Why don’t you ever show it, when you’re happy? I think your pack deserves to know. I think they’d like to see it, once in a while. I _know_ I would.”

That was enough of a reason - that his future-mate wanted him to - for Derek to throw his head back and _howl._ The sound wasn’t one of anger; wasn’t one of pain. It wasn’t designed to call his pack, or signal his location. Instead, it was a sound of celebration. It was meant to let his pack know how he felt, in this moment; the contentment and joy rushing through him needed to be _shared._ He pushed it along the pack bonds, with the largest bit being nudged towards Stiles. He knew the others would feel that new link now; knew they would know what it meant, at least a little. They would know that Stiles was _theirs,_ even if they didn’t yet know he was _Derek’s._ He imagined Erica would figure it out and tell the others, anyway.

When he stopped, Stiles was beaming at him. “That was because of me, wasn’t it?” Derek nodded and Stiles’ cheeks flushed with happy color. “Awesome.”

Derek chuckled, then stood and walked over to Stiles’ bed. “You need to get some sleep. We can talk about this more another time, and I’ll explain about how the pack bond feels to me. It’s...a little different than how it feels to you, right now, and it’ll change for both of us if you become my mate.” He shook out a painkiller and a muscle relaxant, handing them to Stiles along with the bottle of water he’d put in the nightstand before their shower. “Take your medicine and go to sleep.”

 _“When._ Not _if_ I become your mate, Derek. _When.”_ Stiles offered the firm correction, waiting for Derek to nod his head in concession before he swallowed the pills. Then, he gave Derek an insanely enticing look from under his eyelashes. “So, I know you said no sex, but...do you think I can have a kiss goodnight?”

“I suppose.” Derek agreed, before leaning down and brushing his lips lightly over Stiles’ forehead. “Goodnight, Stiles. Sweet dreams.”

“That wasn’t a kiss!” Stiles protested as Derek walked away, crossing the room and heading for the door. “Come on, Sourwolf, give me a _real_ kiss. Please?”

Derek just laughed and closed the door behind himself, heading downstairs to clean up. He could hear Stiles grumbling to himself from his room, but he could also feel Stiles’ happiness and amusement so he wasn’t worried about it. For the moment, everything seemed to be going _really well._ And for the first time in a _very_ long time, Derek wasn’t afraid.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next week passed without much incident, and without any further discussions about mates, or pack dynamics/hierarchy, or about Stiles and Derek's relationship in general. Derek wasn't surprised, considering it was the final week before Winter Break and that meant one thing: _midterms._ So it was entirely expected that Stiles would be focused on the tests he was taking for his various classes and not on Derek. Also because of midterms, Derek didn't see any of the others for the week. Erica did call to check in twice that week. Once to remind Derek that he needed to put more groceries in the house or else she was going to eat Peter for dinner - something he wouldn't put it past her to try - and once to thank him for actually _getting_ the groceries, like she'd asked. But other than that and the occasional text from Cora - usually bitching about someone or some _thing_ \- things were pretty quiet. It was nice, as it gave Derek a little bit of time to adjust before he had to deal with anyone else.

Stiles, for his part, was his usual self. He still let Derek help him dress; still let Derek carry him when necessary; still asked Derek to help him manage the pain as-needed, though that was becoming less frequent with every passing day. Derek assumed that was a good sign; that it meant Stiles was healing properly. They also still ate together, and unwound with a little tv in the evenings. Stiles hadn't asked to take another shower yet - simply washed as best he could using the sink - but given how intense their _last_ shower had been, Derek was mostly just grateful.

By the time Friday rolled around, Stiles looked wrung-out but relieved. He settled into the passenger seat of the jeep and shot Derek a huge grin when he finished loading the wheelchair and got behind the wheel. "I am _so_ fucking glad exams are over."

"For now." Derek pointed out, laughing a little when Stiles playfully slapped his arm. "Still, you just have one more semester of high school left. Have you chosen a college yet?"

"No." Stiles shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I mean, I've gotten accepted to a couple of places and I'm still waiting to hear back from a few more, but...well, I need to factor in a lot of things when I make this decision. Like commute-time, and what it'll mean if I'm further from the pack now that I'm actually _in_ a pack. It's not something I'm taking lightly, so I'm not rushing it. I've got a few months yet to decide, anyway."

Derek nodded even as he pulled out of the school parking lot. He was getting used to driving the jeep, and had taken to working on the engine while Stiles was at school so it was running a _lot_ smoother. He hadn't said anything to the teen, figuring it would be a nice surprise when Stiles finally got to drive it again and realized the difference. It was just a little thing, as far as Derek was concerned, but he knew how much Stiles loved the jeep. He knew it had been Claudia's car first and, since the Camaro had been Laura's, he understood what that meant. Knew it was about more than the make and model, or the year, or the mileage. Knew it had less to do with how _good_ or _nice_ of a car the jeep was, and more to do with who else had sat behind the wheel; who else had loved it.

"You'll tell me what you decide?" Derek asked, glancing over to see Stiles studying him with a soft sort of look on his face. "We'll make it work, no matter how far you go, but...you'll let me know?"

"Of course." Stiles shifted his body a little, so he was sort of slumped against the door, and added. "I told everybody I'm not up for company tonight, but the hoards will most-likely descend on us come morning so we should probably be braced for it."

Derek couldn't help snorting a little at that, but he nodded. "It might be best if we shunt everyone over to my house instead. Your dad mentioned that he's got some extra-long shifts the next few weeks; said it's always busier at the station around the holidays. I don't want him getting woken up by everybody."

Stiles nodded, then yawned. "Yeah, okay. I'm sure Dad'll appreciate being allowed to sleep, though he'll be disappointed if he has to start fending for himself in the food-department. You're spoiling him with your cooking, you know."

"I'll make up some stuff and put it in the fridge and freezer for him." Derek said with a casual shrug, because he _liked_ cooking and it was nice to make food for someone who actually took the time to appreciate it. Teenagers, whether they were werewolves or not, tended to eat so fast they barely tasted it. "I'll leave a list of how to properly reheat each dish, and label what they all are, so he can still have actual meals even if we're not there."

"That's really sweet." Stiles said, and his voice had gone all gooey around the edges. His scent had gotten sweeter, too. "You're seriously spoiling him, though. He's never going to want you to leave at this rate. I think he might like you better than me."

"I can teach you to cook some of the stuff I've been making." Derek offered. Not because he minded doing the cooking, but because the idea of preparing meals _with_ Stiles - doing the prep-work together, and moving seamlessly around each other while they cooked - was ridiculously appealing to him. He remembered his parents doing that. The way his mom would steal a kiss from his dad while grabbing a knife from the block, or the way his dad would nuzzle his mom's neck as he reached for an ingredient from the cabinet over her head.

"I'd like that." Stiles said, his voice soft and languid. Derek glanced over and noticed that Stiles was resting his weight almost fully on the door now, eyes closed.

"You really that tired?" Derek asked, prodding at the pack bond a little and getting a wave of fuzzy exhaustion back along it. After a second, he asked. "Did you take something?"

"Yeah, muscle relaxant." Stiles mumbled, head lolling a little on his neck as he turned to look at Derek with a sleepy smile. "My thigh wouldn't stop cramping, and my last exam was gym so I didn't have anything to do, since they just switched me to an extra study-period 'cause of my leg. Figured it was fine if I took it, 'cause no test, you know? That was about...I dunno. Half hour ago? Maybe a little more."

Derek pulled the jeep into the driveway and shut it off. "In that case, I'm just going to put you straight to bed, okay?"

When Stiles just hummed in agreement, Derek got out and went to get him. Once he had Stiles in the house - and in his bed - he told him. "When your dad gets up - which should be shortly - I'll let him know that tomorrow I'll be taking you to my house for the day, so he can sleep."

"Sounds good." Stiles yawned and closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up around the bottom half of his face. Derek wasn’t sure where the habit had come from, but he found it ridiculously adorable. Sounding slightly muffled, Stiles added. "Wake me for dinner?"

"Of course." Derek promised, brushing a kiss against Stiles' forehead.

The teen made a soft, sleepy sound of pleasure and brushed his own lips along the edge of Derek's jaw as the alpha moved away. Derek ignored the way his stomach swooped at the light touch, quietly leaving Stiles' room. He decided to start on dinner, despite it being fairly early. Cooking was always a good way to sort his thoughts and center himself, after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles grinned as Derek set him gently on the queen-sized bed in one of the Hale House's many guest rooms. While it wasn’t as large as the bed in Derek's room, it was larger than Stiles' twin at home and a hell of a lot more comfortable, too. "You're sure you don't mind me staying here?" He asked, for what had to be the twentieth time since that morning. "Because I know that you're trying to let my dad get as much sleep as possible, and I know you both think it'll be easier on me - and my leg - if we cut out the every-day commute between our houses, but really, I don't mind. I don't want you to feel like you _have to_ put me up or whatever."

“And I already told _you,_ I don’t mind you being here.” Derek gave Stiles a pointed look. “Now just _stay still_ for five minutes please, while I go and get your stuff. Then you can tell me where you want it and I’ll put everything away for you.”

"I'm not an invalid. I can unpack my own stuff, Derek!"

Stiles was forced to yell after Derek, because the alpha had already left the room. He just rolled his eyes, though he knew Stiles couldn't see it, and kept walking down the stairs. Eventually, Stiles would learn to accept that Derek was going to take care of him, and provide for him as often as possible and in every way. In the meantime, Derek sort of enjoyed their arguments. It was _endearing,_ the way Stiles was so insistent on being independent. As though Derek might try to change that. As though that wasn't one of Derek's favorite things about him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Scott, I swear to god, if you say one more fucking word I'm going to shove a fistful of mountain ash and powdered wolfsbane down your goddamn throat, are we clear?"

Derek winced, because the mere t _hought_ of that was horrifying. He also spared a few seconds to be grateful that Stiles wasn't pissed off at _him._ And really, Derek had expected this. He was sure Stiles had too, though sometimes Stiles could be a little blind where Scott was concerned. Like he kept hoping Scott would come through for him; would be the sort of best friend he'd been _before_ Allison and the supernatural stuff had all happened. And whenever Scott failed to do that - whenever he let Stiles down _again_ \- the fallout got a _little bit_ bigger. Part of Derek had always been smug whenever it happened, because it was one more bit of proof that Scott was _not_ Stiles' alpha; not really. Now that Stiles had finally chosen Derek, it wasn't nearly as satisfying.

Mostly, Derek was just pissed off that Scott was _still_ managing to hurt Stiles. After everything they'd all been through, Derek had figured Scott would have learned how to be a better friend. Or, barring that, he'd have thought Scott would've at least learned to understand Stiles well enough to stop putting his own foot so far in his mouth he was basically chewing on his knee cap.

If the current situation was anything to judge by...no such luck.

Stiles was sitting on Derek's lap on Derek's favorite armchair - a big, black leather recliner - with his feet over one arm. Cora, Malia, and Isaac were all cuddled together on a sofa because they'd been watching a movie. In fact, _'The Princess Bride'_ was paused on the huge flat screen tv; Wesley was in the middle of fighting an R.O.U.S. while Buttercup was being utterly useless in the background. But Scott had shown up, apparently looking for both Stiles _and_ Isaac. Scott's irritation at finding them in Derek's house seemed to be a combination of the fact that Isaac had been spending more and more time with Derek's female relatives, and the fact that he'd just been told by Noah that Stiles would be spending most of Winter Break at the Hale house.

"I’m allowed to spend time wherever the hell I want to." Stiles continued, face flushed with anger and hands curled into fists in his lap as he glared at his friend. "You don't get to dictate _shit_ about that. I have Dad's permission to be here - in fact, it was _his idea_ I just stay over instead of going back and forth - and that's all that matters. And I don't give a fuck if you _are_ Isaac's alpha now. You don't get to tell him he can't be over here, considering he and Cora are practically dating! Hell, he might wind up back in our pack, at this rate, and if that happens you had _better_ let him go with grace or I'll kick your ass."

Cora and Malia sucked in stunned breaths and Isaac actually squeaked in fear, cringing back against the girls he was sandwiched between. Derek bit back a groan, dropping his head down to rest against Stiles’ shoulder, because that was _not_ what this conversation needed, damnit. Derek was _not_ up for the fight that now seemed entirely inevitable. Stiles, for his part, didn’t seem to realize what he’d just said.

Scott, unfortunately, _did._

“What do you mean, _our pack?”_ And yup; Scott’s eyes were glowing red and his fingers were tipped with claws. Any second now, Derek imagined he’d start lisping around fangs. “Since when is Derek’s pack _your pack,_ Stiles? You’re in _my_ pack, not his!”

And yeah, okay; Stiles clearly realized now what he’d said but it was too late to take it back. He slumped against Derek and sighed, looking resigned. “I _really_ don’t want to have this conversation right now, Scott. But we both know there’s never been a pack bond between us. You know you’ve never been able to feel me, the way you can with the others, and you know I’ve _never_ called you my alpha.”

Scott was staring at him, anger draining away to be replaced swiftly by hurt. The claws were gone and Scott’s brown eyes were doing the kicked-puppy-thing which was just _not fair._ “I’ve always considered you pack, Stiles. I’ve called you that from the start. We’re _brothers.”_

“Not really.” Stiles disagreed, and Scott looked even more hurt than before but Stiles wasn’t willing to budge on this; it was high time Scott listened. “Look, we _were_ brothers. And you’re always going to be one of my best friends, because you were there when my mom died and I was there when your dad left and you can’t erase that kind of history, no matter what else might happen. But you stopped being my brother the second you stopped being there when I needed you.”

Scott looked like he wanted to interrupt, but Stiles kept talking before he could. “You chose other people over me, and that’s fine. We grew up, and we grew in different directions. We’re different people than we were when we were five; when we chose each other.”

Stiles took a slow breath, then continued. “Look, I love you, okay? And I guess you’ll always be family, in a way, but...for all the times you called me pack, I _never_ called you alpha. And that’s because, when shit got bad, you weren’t there for me. Not even when I _really_ needed you to be. I called, begging you to save me, and you hung up to be with Allison. I nearly _drowned,_ and so did Derek, because you couldn't be bothered to take _one phone call._ I was kidnapped and beaten by a geriatric hunter and you didn’t do a damned thing to help me. I don’t think you even noticed I was missing. Every time I told you not to trust someone, or said who the bad guy was, you brushed me off, but I was _always right.”_

“So no, you aren’t my alpha.” Stiles finished, voice filled with grim finality. “You never were. And you don’t get to be pissed off about that, because it’s your own fault.”

“But I...” Scott looked between Derek and Stiles - seemed to finally register that Stiles was actually _on Derek’s lap_ \- a confused look on his face. “Are you two...like, _together?_ Is that why you picked him?”

“Yes, we are. And no, it’s not.” Stiles shrugged. “Derek’s always been my alpha. I never made it official, because for a long time I didn’t want to choose between you two and later because of some stuff I didn’t understand, but I’m done denying it. He’s my alpha. Accept that, Scott. Be happy for me. Otherwise, you’re going to lose me as a friend entirely.”

Scott slowly nodded, though he still looked hurt and confused. “If you’re happy, then...then I guess that’s all that matters. I just wish you’d told me this sooner. How you felt, about us growing apart or whatever.”

Stiles shrugged again, and Scott glanced over at Isaac, saying softly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I don’t care where you spend your time. I just got worried because no one in the pack knew where you were.”

“Everyone knew where I was.” Isaac mumbled, not looking at Scott as he spoke. “They just didn’t want to be the one to have to tell you.”

“Oh.” Scott shifted uncomfortably. “I, uh...thought you were dating Allison.”

“I am!” Isaac protested, and that had his head shooting up, eyes wide. “I love her.”

There was confusion on Scott’s face again. Even moreso than before. Derek really wished he was anywhere else for this conversation; had no interest in being present for it. Unfortunately, Stiles seemed interested in watching it play out and Derek couldn't get up and leave without moving the teen, so...

“But Stiles said you’re practically dating Cora.” Because Scott was an idiot and couldn't just mind his own business, so he had to _push._ Derek really wanted to just kick the teenage alpha out of his house.

Isaac and Cora were both blushing now, though it was far more obvious on Isaac’s fair skin. “Ah, yeah. It’s a little complicated. But, like...we’re good. It’s...it’s good. Everyone’s fine.”

Scott looked at Cora, seeking confirmation, and she growled a little but nodded. “It’s not your business, McCall, but yes, it’s fine. Complicated, and the pack-lines make that worse, but I’m not leaving Derek and Allison isn’t sure she can _join_ Derek. So we’re working it out the best we can. We’re good.”

And fuck, but now Derek _had_ to get involved. “If she’s comfortable with it - if she can handle it - let her know she’s welcome.” Because anything that made his sister happy was a good thing, in his book. Even an Argent. “And of course I’ll happily take you back, Isaac.”

Cora shot him a grateful smile while Isaac ducked his head again. Scott looked around at everyone, baffled. “I have no idea what’s happening right now, but I, uh...I’m gonna go.”

“Ask Allison to explain it to you.” Stiles suggested, because she might look like a Disney Princess sometimes but she’d also seen Scott naked and was, therefore, more than comfortable telling him things the others weren’t. It might also go over better, the whole explanation of how - sometimes - two wolves chose the same mate and, as a result, all three wound up together.

Stiles sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to explain.

Once Scott was gone, it was only a minute or two before Stiles started laughing. Malia’s childish giggles followed soon after, and then Isaac and Cora joined in as well. Derek simply rolled his eyes. _Teenagers._

~*~*~*~*~*~

“God, I can’t wait until tomorrow.” Stiles sighed, flopping back on his bed. As much as he liked being at the Hale house, he’d missed his room. "This stupid cast is starting to itch like crazy."

"You know the brace is still going to be a pain in the ass, right?" Derek shook the bottle of muscle relaxants at Stiles questioningly. "Do you need one of these?"

"Yeah, but at least I'll be able to walk." Stiles laughed, rolling his eyes. "I mean, with crutches, sure, but still. Better than being stuck in a wheelchair all the time. And no, I'm good. No pills. Though I'll probably need them again once I'm up and moving. My muscles are _not_ going to like the sudden activity after weeks of nothing."

Derek hummed. "That's why they're going for the brace, right, rather than another cast?" He'd done his best to pay attention to Melissa's explanations about the healing process; wanted to understand how it worked and what was going on with Stiles' body. "It's better for the muscles."

Stiles shrugged, yawning. "I guess. I think it'll be better for my knee and ankle, too. Like, keeping the joints immobile for a long time isn't good, I don't think. I've never actually broken a bone before."

"Really?" Derek was a little surprised by that. "I'd have figured, given how much trouble you and Scott got into even before he was bitten, that you'd have had more than your fair share." He sat down on the edge of Stiles' bed and took a moment to run his fingers through the teen's hair. He smiled when Stiles pushed up into the touch, practically purring.

"Nah, I'm sturdier than I look." Stiles laughed and wiggled his eyebrows at Derek, who simply gave him an unimpressed look in reply. "No, seriously, though. I had to get stitches a couple of times, and once Scott fell off a roof and broke his arm, but _I've_ never broken anything before."

After another yawn, Stiles asked softly. "You heading to bed? I know you normally clean up, but since we've only been here for the last twenty minutes, there isn't really a mess."

"Yeah, probably." Derek rolled his eyes. "I know your dad took off tomorrow, so he can be there when you get the cast off, but I'm going to offer to drive. I don't think he should be behind the wheel when he'll be running on about three hours of sleep, _if_ he manages to crash right away when he gets home in the morning."

Stiles nodded and Derek got up, heading for the door. As he reached it, Stiles called out. "Goodnight, Der. Sweet dreams."

"Sleep well, Stiles." Derek shook his head, closing the door behind him and crossing the hall to the guest room.

It was a little odd, being back in the Stilinski house after almost a week at his, but he knew Stiles had missed it; had missed his dad. True, they'd had dinner with Noah three times and they'd spent most of Tuesday with him, since it had been his day off, but Stiles was used to seeing his dad every day. Derek figured they'd spend tomorrow night as well. He'd offered to bring Stiles back for Christmas Eve, but Noah was working overnight - and part of Christmas morning - so that he could have the rest of Christmas day off. And it was much easier, logistically speaking, to simply have everyone - both packs, plus assorted parents - at Derek's place, which was far larger than anywhere else.

Well, except maybe Jackson's place, but no one expected the Whittemores to host. Hell, despite Jackson's time as a kanima and his subsequent transformation into a proper werewolf, the Whittemores didn't even know about the supernatural. Derek actually wasn't sure how they'd missed it, except that Jackson had been a raging asshole - and had been distant from his adoptive parents - for so long, that they just sort of accepted it when he disappeared or ran off or spent a few days somewhere else. Which made Jackson's full-moon and other pack-related activities a hell of a lot less notable or suspicious.

Derek finished stripping down to nothing but black boxer-brief and laid down on the bed. It still smelled faintly like him, though the sheets had been washed since he'd last spent the night. He shifted a little uncomfortably, tugging at the waistband of his underwear in annoyance. He preferred to sleep naked, but in the event that Stiles needed him in the middle of the night it was better if he had something on. Even if it _was_ just a thin layer of cotton over his junk.

Derek closed his eyes, trying to decide if he was actually going to go right to sleep or if he should flip on the lamp on the nightstand and read a few chapters of the book he'd brought with him. Before he could make a decision, a sound caught Derek's attention.

The first thing he noticed was that Stiles' heart rate was high. Seconds after that, he noticed that Stiles' breathing was off as well. Labored, almost; hitching and catching in his throat. Derek was already pushing himself back up to sitting - ready to rush into the teen's room to see what was wrong - when he heard a _moan._ And...oh. _Oh._

That was... _not_ a sound of pain.

Derek let himself drop back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. Stiles let out another soft sound - a muffled sort of gasp - and Derek could feel it as his cheeks heated up, his face flooding with color that came from both arousal and embarrassment. Squeezing his eyes shut, Derek reminded himself that privacy was important and he should respect Stiles'. He should _stop listening._ And he would have, really, except...

Except he could hear the sound of skin-on-skin, just a little smoother than it should be. Which meant Stiles was using something to ease the friction. Derek wondered what; wondered if it was just lotion, or if Stiles had been bold enough to buy himself lube at some point. Wondered if Stiles would come fast, or slow; if he’d rush to finish or draw things out, like a tease. And as soon as he had that thought, Derek realized that Stiles _knew_ he could hear him. Stiles knew, and he was jerking off _anyway._ Because he _wanted_ Derek to hear him. Wanted Derek to know he was just a few feet away, touching himself. Bringing himself pleasure.

Derek groaned softly and fumbled for his phone, hissing a little when the backlit screen was too bright. But he pulled up the text-thread he had with Stiles and typed as quickly as he could, because he _had_ to know; had to be _sure._

**Derek: _You know I can hear you, right?_**

Derek heard the text-alert sound; heard Stiles whimper as he no doubt read Derek’s message. And then...

 _“Fuck...”_ The slick sounds started up again, a little faster than before. _“God, yes. Der...”_

And yeah; that was about as much permission as Derek needed. He shoved his own underwear down, out of the way, before kicking them off and curling his fingers around his cock. He was already hard, the sounds Stiles was making more than enough to get him there. He probably could’ve gotten off without touching himself, actually, but saw no reason not to indulge a little. He could hear Stiles, but Stiles couldn't hear him. He’d have no idea if Derek was enjoying himself, or if the alpha had opted instead to tune him out. Part of Derek wanted to leave it a mystery; wanted to make Stiles wonder if he’d kept listening. Maybe even pretend he hadn’t.

But more than that, he wanted his mate to _know._ To know that Derek was using every bit of control he had to _not_ cross the hall and take over; fist Stiles’ cock the way he was fisting his own. He wanted to lick the sweat no doubt sheening Stiles’ skin; wanted to feel Stiles’ slim body twisting and arching under him; wanted to cause every delicious sound spilling from those lips _personally._

So he opened his phone and texted again.

**Derek: _No one home but us stop trying to be quiet let me hear everything_**

As far as sexy messages went, it wasn’t much. But Stiles moaned from the other room like the very idea - the thought of being loud _for Derek_ \- was the hottest thing he’d ever considered. And Derek couldn't bring himself to regret saying it, though he knew encouraging Stiles’ tempting behavior was a bad idea. It was hard to regret _anything_ when he could tell Stiles was close to coming already. His hand had sped up again, the slick sounds louder and faster. He could hear Stiles moaning and gasping, Derek’s name on his lips interspersed with obscenities and keening whines and lewd suggestions.

Normally, dirty talk didn’t do it for Derek. Kate had liked to spew filth and criticism and praise without pause while they were fucking so, after her, he’d preferred silence. He muted _porn,_ for fuck’s sake. But _Stiles..._

Stiles’ mouth was _made_ for sin, and the sounds he made were easily the hottest thing Derek had ever heard. And when Stiles let out a sound that was half-moan and half-scream, Derek would have been able to tell he’d finished even without the wave of pleasure that skittered along the pack bond, curling around Derek and making him wonder. Wonder what it must look like when Stiles came. If Stiles had caught the mess in his hand, or with a handy towel or discarded shirt. Or if, maybe, Stiles had painted his belly and chest with the mess. He imagined licking it off that creamy flesh. With a low sound of need, Derek spilled over his own fist, sticky-wet pulses of pleasure that left him feeling wrung-out but far from satisfied.

Derek used a corner of the sheet to wipe himself off, making a mental note to throw the sheets in the wash himself before he left. The last thing he needed was Noah realizing Derek had been jerking off in his guest room. With a soft sigh, Derek picked up his phone and started texting Stiles again. This time, the teen texted back.

**Derek: _You’re a tease._**

**Stiles: _the hell i am. get back over here & i’ll put out_**

**Derek: _Not happening. Which you already knew. Hence: tease._**

**Stiles: _not my fault ur denying us both_**  
**Stiles: _my nubile young body awaits your pleasure_**  
**Stiles: _did you get off too?_**

**Derek: _That’s hardly appropriate to ask._**  
**Derek: _But yes._**

**Stiles: _fuck that’s hot_**  
**Stiles: _next time can i watch?_**  
**Stiles: _i swear i won’t touch if you say not to_**  
**Stiles: _please?!_**

**Derek: _Maybe._**  
**Derek: _Now shut up and go to sleep._**

Stiles moaned softly after the _maybe,_ then laughed at the second text. Derek smiled to himself as he heard Stiles call a soft _goodnight, sourwolf_ through the walls. After texting back a _goodnight_ of his own, Derek tucked his phone under the pillow, curled up on his side, and went to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek watched as the doctor showed Stiles how far his knee and ankle could move in the new brace he'd just finished being fitted for. Stiles’ face was pinched with pain, and Derek could actually see the way Stiles' thigh muscle was spasming under his skin. As discreetly as he could, he stepped closer to the exam table and tucked his hand under Stiles'. Stiles clung to his fingers, sighing quietly when Derek started drawing out his pain. Because they'd been expecting this to be difficult, Derek had worn a red sweater with little holes his thumbs tucked through, so that he could take Stiles' pain without anyone becoming concerned about the black veins on Derek's arm.

Noah stepped forward a little, asking. "How often should Stiles rest? I know he'll be able to bear weight in the brace, and that he'll have crutches to help him get around, but should he be using the wheelchair part of the time still or...?"

"He should walk as much as he comfortably can." The doctor explained. "If he's in pain, or tired, then the wheelchair is a good fall-back. Until he's sure he can manage it, he should definitely still have the wheelchair at school. At home, where he can sit as often as necessary, the crutches should be fine, though he ought to take extra care on stairs for a little while longer."

"Hey, doc, I have a question." And oh no; Derek did _not_ like Stiles' tone of voice. The teen had a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a small smirk curving his lips. "So, obviously I've got a lot of my mobility back with this brace. Do you think I'll have a big enough range of motion for sex?"

The doctor's eyes widened and he flicked his eyes to Stiles' chart, no doubt doing the math and realizing that Stiles was still only seventeen. Next, his eyes went to Noah, who - even _out_ of uniform - everyone in town knew was the sheriff. And lastly, he looked at Derek. Derek, whose hand was still tucked under Stiles' hand. Derek, who was very obviously _not_ a seventeen year old. Derek, who was wearing a soft thumb-hole sweater but still had a short beard that was only a little longer than stubble and who had what Stiles liked to call _murder-brows._ He looked older, and he looked surly and unfriendly, and definitely looked like the sort of person who might take advantage of a pretty teenage boy like Stiles.

The whole situation was beyond horrifying, and Derek could feel his ears burning. He was positive they were bright red, and had a feeling his face was fairly pink as well.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, the doctor said. "I think, until you can walk around for at least several hours without pain, it might be best not to try any positions or activities that might put undue strain on your leg."

"What about a position that doesn't strain my leg at all, though?" Stiles sounded somehow devastatingly innocent, despite what he was asking about, and Derek sort of wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "I mean, assuming no weight is being put on my leg and I'm not doing, you know, yoga-type poses or anything out of the kama sutra, it would be fine, right?"

The doctor glanced at Noah again, which Derek couldn't quite bring himself to do. Then he said. "I suppose, if you're careful not to do anything that causes you pain...yes, of course. That's perfectly fine, from a purely medical standpoint."

With that oddly-disclaimed medical clearance Stiles was suddenly beaming, and Derek started contemplating jumping out the window and fleeing into the Preserve. Or, you know, maybe all the way back to New York. Fuck it; Scott could have the territory. Nothing was worth the mortification of that moment. As Derek caught Noah looking at him from the corner of his eye, he silently cursed Stiles for putting him in this position in the first place. Derek had a feeling he was now going to be faced with the task of convincing the sheriff that he had _not_ defiled the man’s underage son. He _really_ hoped Noah would believe him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For the rest of the day, Derek did his best to pretend the whole incident at the doctor's office hadn't happened. Or, barring that, that he'd thought nothing of it, beyond that Stiles was a weird teenager who liked to push boundaries whenever he could. Which was true. It was just that Derek had never been very good at lying. Honestly it was a wonder everyone he'd ever met didn't know about werewolves, because he'd always slipped up and said things he shouldn't have. It was something Laura had teased him mercilessly about when they were younger; how everyone in town thought he was weird because he'd make comments about things he couldn't possibly have heard, or seen, or smelled. But mostly, his family had loved that he was so honest, and there was no point in even _trying_ to lie to his mom or Laura, so he'd never bothered to learn how.

Which _wasn't good,_ given the current situation. Any time he had to touch Stiles - to help him with the stairs, to help him get his left shoe off, to draw out more pain - Derek could feel his ears burning. He'd always blushed easily, and that hadn't changed any more than his inability to lie had. Stiles' constant teasing and the Bambi-eyed looks he kept giving Derek weren't helping matters, either. It also didn't help that any time Noah looked at him or spoke to him, Derek was overcome with guilt and fear and mortification, so he stammered and flinched away and generally acted like he'd done something wrong.

Which...he kind of _had._

True, he hadn't _touched_ Stiles - had refused to give Stiles so much as a kiss on the mouth - but he _had_ actively listened in while the teenager jerked off, even going so far as to encourage Stiles to do so within his range of hearing. He'd even - tentatively, but still - agreed to let Stiles watch him masturbate, at some unspecified date in the future. And sure, Derek could claim that he had no intention of doing so until after Stiles' birthday but that didn't change what he'd already done. Didn't change the way he'd fucked into his fist while imagining it was Stiles' cock he was touching; while listening to Noah's underage son moaning for him from the next room.

All-in-all, it wasn't the best situation to be stuck in. Derek had sort of hoped Noah would dismiss him from his caretaker duties now that Stiles was in the brace, but he'd quietly asked if Derek would mind helping out a little longer. Just another week or two; just until Stiles really got the hang of the crutches and the stairs and all. Not to mention, he wasn't comfortable letting Stiles behind a wheel again just yet, though the doctor had said the brace would allow enough range of motion for it. So, until Noah felt it was safe for Stiles to be alone - and to drive himself places - Derek found himself trapped in the Stilinski household.

That hadn't seemed like a bad thing until Stiles' little stunt.

It was one thing for him to tease Derek; it was another to basically throw a declaration of intent on the table in front of his father. Derek knew for a fact that Chris had given Noah wolfsbane bullets. If the Sheriff wanted to, he could kill him. Not that Derek thought Noah was a murderer, per se. But a man was entitled to defend the honor of his only child, and Noah had proven himself fiercely protective of Stiles on more than one occasion. It wasn't much of a stretch, really, to think that he might be in danger of getting shot.

It wasn't until after dinner that things came to a head, as it were.

"Stiles, why don't you let Derek take you upstairs? You can play a video game or watch a show or something, while he and I clean up." Noah's tone made it clear he wasn't asking.

"Sure thing, Daddy-o." Stiles held out his arms to Derek, showing no hesitation about being picked up and smiling broadly. "Come on, Der. Let's get me settled in so my dad can give you a lecture about your intentions and taking care of his only son."

Derek said nothing until he'd lowered Stiles down onto his bed. "You did it on purpose."

Stiles didn't bother pretending he didn't know what Derek was talking about. "Honestly? Yes, I did, because I know the only way you're _ever_ going to let this happen between us is if you know my dad is okay with it. So now he knows, and he'll give you a few minutes of stern-talk before reminding you that he trusts you with me and that he knows you're a good person. He might even ask if you're _sure_ you want to be with me, because I'm not easy to deal with. But it'll be fine, and the sooner we get this part out of the way, the sooner we can move forward."

Derek swallowed hard, then said softly. "I understand that you're trying to put me at ease, but you owe me an apology." Derek shook his head when Stiles opened his mouth, and the teen bit his lip rather than speaking. _"No,_ Stiles. You owe me an apology. Putting me on the spot like that isn't okay. It shows a blatant disregard for my boundaries; for my ability to consent about things. I was put on the spot, not only with your dad but with that doctor. I don't like my personal life thrown around like that, to people I don't know or trust, which is something you know. I don't appreciate you ignoring that."

Stiles was chewing on his lip, looking distressed, by the time Derek finished. As soon as Derek raised an eyebrow, signalling that he was ready for a response, Stiles started talking in a rush. "You're right, and I'm _sorry._ I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable, I swear. I didn't even really think about what the doctor might think, because honestly, I can't imagine anyone assuming _you_ would be with _me._ I mean, you look like you just stepped out of a magazine and I'm lanky and awkward and I honestly have no idea what you see in me. So I'm sorry, for that. But my dad..."

Stiles shrugged, looking a little helpless. "Der, he was going to find out, one way or another. Because I promised him, when I finally told him about the supernatural, that I wouldn't lie to him anymore. _Or_ keep important things from him. And this? _This is important._ Like, _majorly_ so. So I had to tell him, and okay, maybe that wasn't the best way, but I'm kind of impulsive and I just...did it. Without thinking. Which, okay, that's bad. And I'm sorry. But, just...please don't hate me. Please?"

“Stiles...” Derek sighed, because he could feel the anxiety through the pack bond; Stiles’ fear that Derek would reject him because of this. So his tone was chiding, but low and gentle as well. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I just want you to think before you act, at least _some_ of the time. As an alpha’s mate, you’re going to be responsible for some diplomatic relations and I need to know that you can handle that.”

Stiles stared up at him, still chewing a little nervously on his lower lip. Derek reached out, using his thumb to free the abused flesh from Stiles' teeth. "I forgive you, okay? I just need you to do something for me." He waited for Stiles to nod before he continued.

"Make a list, of everything you can think of that an alpha might require their mate to do. All of the duties and skills you think an alpha's mate should have." Derek leaned down and brushed his lips lightly over Stiles' forehead, adding softly. "We'll go over it together, at some point, and I'll correct any misconceptions you might have, and we'll go from there. Okay?"

"Yeah. O-okay, sure." Stiles took a breath in. It was shaky, but he let it out again in a way that was slow and controlled so Derek didn't worry about it too much. "Go on, Sourwolf, before my dad starts wondering what's keeping you."

By the time Derek got back to the kitchen, Noah had already loaded the dishwasher and put away the leftovers. "I would have cleaned up." He said, because it was the safest thought in his head at that moment.

Noah laughed. "I'm sure you would have, but you cooked so it's only fair that I clean up." He pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge, holding it out to Derek with a questioning look. "I know you guys can't get drunk, but would you like one?"

"I, uh...don't really like the taste." Derek admitted, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "If you have whiskey, I'll drink a little of that, but beer is just...too yeasty for me."

The Sheriff studied Derek's face for a minute, then shrugged. "You like it neat, or...?"

"On the rocks, please." Because Derek didn't understand the appeal of drinking room temperature _anything._

Noah disappeared into the dining room for a minute, coming back with a rocks glass and a bottle of Jack. Derek typically preferred Crown, but he wasn't about to complain. Noah put some ice in the glass, then added a few fingers of whiskey before handing it to Derek. Obligingly, Derek immediately took a sip. It was good. Not _great,_ but good. Leagues better than the beer would've been, anyway.

Noah opened the beer for himself, saying softly. "I try not to drink whiskey too much anymore. It's the sort of thing I save for when I've got a rising body count I can't seem to stop, or days that are extra-hard. You know, like Claudia's birthday, or our wedding anniversary, or the day she died."

"I know all about those sorts of days." Derek said quietly, following Noah when he opened the back door and stepped outside. He sat down on a patio chair, and Derek sat beside him.

"I'd imagine you do." Noah agreed, sounding sad. "That's a lot of birthdays to remember; a lot of days to be sad on."

"I guess." Derek shrugged, taking another sip before saying. "I try not to think of it that way anymore. I did, for a while, because that was how Laura and I _both_ dealt with things.Screaming, and tears, and breaking things when it hurt too much. We were a lot alike. Too much anger wrapped around the grief for us to let it out any other way, I guess. But Cora...she's different. She handles it different."

Noah hummed thoughtfully as he sipped his beer. "Yeah? How's she handle it, then?"

Derek huffed a small laugh, lips curving up a little. "Tears, obviously, but she also talks. If it's Mom's birthday, she wants to know what I remember about her. What my favorite memory of her is, and my strongest one.

"On Laura's, she makes me tell her about New York. About what Laura was like as an alpha, because she only ever knew her as a sister." Derek's voice was a little hoarse, but he pushed on because this was still easier than talking about Stiles. "She wants to talk about the Christmas when Mom threatened to banish Peter because he set a racoon loose in the house, because, _'I thought the kids would have a blast catching it; you're such a spoilsport, Talia.'_ Or she’ll make Peter tell us about the Thanksgiving when Dad got lost in the Preserve, when he first married Mom. The turkey burned, and the stuffing was dried out, and the potatoes were overdone, because everyone was looking for him, afraid he’d been kidnapped or hurt. But he’d just wandered off and gotten lost. Apparently, they wound up just ordering Chinese and every Thanksgiving when we were growing up, Peter would say to Dad, _‘Don’t wander off, now; I’m not in the mood for an eggroll.’_ and Mom would laugh until she cried.”

"She tempers the grief with happy memories." Noah said, and Derek nodded. He took a bigger sip, forcing his fingers to relax a little around the glass before it shattered in his hand. "That's a better way to handle it. Or healthier, anyway."

"I guess." Derek shrugged, studying the grass under their feet in the weak light of the half-moon overhead. "Mostly it still hurts, but I guess those days hurt anyway. Cora was younger than me, though, and she didn't have Laura all those extra years like I did. She was alone. I think she forgot a lot of things, in the time she spent away. I think she's afraid of forgetting more. She wants to remember as much as she can."

"Stiles is like that." Noah admitted. "He used to try to talk about Claudia. He doesn't really, anymore, but I think that's because _I_ never do. I worry sometimes, that he'll forget things about her. The way her perfume smelled, or the way she liked to wear her hair, or what it sounded like when she said his name - his _real_ name - because she's the only one who ever said it right. Because he was so young when we lost her, and not much older than that when she died, and I hate that some of his strongest memories are when she was lost in her own head."

Noah's voice had gone hoarse now, and Derek knew what that was like; what it felt like to choke on your own grief and pain and loss. "I think..." He said, though finding the words he wanted wasn't easy at all. "I think that Stiles is stronger than we give him credit for. I think he probably remembers everything about Claudia, because he wouldn't let himself forget, no matter how much remembering might hurt sometimes. I think he'd rather be hurting than lose her entirely. That's just the kind of person he is."

"I think you're probably right about that." Noah said, after clearing his throat a little and discreetly wiping at his eyes. "You understand him, Derek. Better than most people. Better than Scott does, even, and they grew up together. I think you know him better than I do, some days."

Derek didn't say anything to that. Wasn't sure what he _could_ say, really. He really didn't think he knew Stiles all that well. Most of the time, he failed to predict what the impulsive teen was going to do; didn't figure it out until it was far too late to stop him. He was pretty good at reading Stiles' moods, though; had been even before the pack bond was in place. He was also good at getting Stiles back out of his head when he got stuck there. Could tell when the teen had taken too much Adderall, or not enough. When he needed caffeine versus when he needed to crash and sleep it off. He could tell when Stiles was annoyed, and when he was frustrated, and when he was pissed off. Derek knew he was one of the few people Stiles could sit in silence with, and what it meant when Stiles chose to do that rather than talking.

So maybe he didn't always understand Stiles' random trains of thought, or where they might lead Stiles' brain, or what decisions he might make because of them. But if he knew what Stiles was doing, Derek was damned good at figuring out _why._ That was something, anyway.

After several minutes of silence - during which Noah finished off his beer and Derek took a few more small sips of his whiskey - Noah finally spoke again. "Stiles isn't always easy to love."

And Derek knew what Noah meant, obviously. Knew that Stiles could be cruel, and capricious, and kind of an asshole. Knew that Stiles' moods oscillated wildly at times. Knew that Stiles was loud, and energetic, and all-consuming most days. Knew that when he wasn't, he could be withdrawn to the point of near-catatonia, which was nearly as exhausting to be around. But despite understanding where the Sheriff was coming from, Derek had to disagree.

"I've never found it difficult, sir." Derek shrugged when Noah turned to raise his eyebrows at him. "It's the easiest thing I've ever done, actually. Loving Stiles is like breathing, or shifting. It comes naturally to me. The only problem I've ever had with it, was not being able to _stop."_

"I suppose a father can't ask for much more than that." Noah admitted, sounding a little relieved. "I think every parent wants their child to find someone who loves everything about them. Even the difficult parts. Even on their worst days. I can't say I ever expected it would be _you,_ but I think Stiles could do a lot worse."

Derek swallowed hard, then asked weakly. "You aren't...angry?"

Noah let out an amused sort of sound. "About what? The fact that my son can't do anything by half-measure? That when he falls in love, he's all-in about it? Doesn't matter that it's a man, or someone older, or a werewolf. Stiles doesn't care how difficult loving you might be. It won't make a bit of difference, if you point out how much harder this path is; how much easier it would be if he just let this go and chose something else. I can’t really be mad about that, Derek. It’s just who he is"

"I know." Derek knew how thoroughly committed Stiles became, once he'd made his choice. "I want you to know that...that if he changes his mind, _ever..._ I'll let him go. I won't ever force him into this life; into this world. _My_ world." After a pause, he added in a whisper. "If I had any idea how to make him choose something safer, I'd give him up in a heartbeat. But I don't know how to do that; how to make him walk away."

"You can't. No matter how much you might want to - no matter how much better or safer or smarter it might be for him - you can't change Stiles' mind. Boy's stubborn to his core." Noah grinned, a little bit wistfully. "He's like Claudia that way. Never could tell that woman anything, believe me."

Derek fidgeted a little in the uncomfortable plastic seat, then spoke before he could chicken out. "I haven't touched him."

An awkward silence descended and, for far longer than Derek was comfortable with, the only thing he could hear was the pounding of both of their heartbeats and some crickets. If he tried, he could also hear Stiles' heartbeat, but it was probably best if he kept his ears focused firmly on what was happening in the backyard. At least for the moment. Derek could hear the slight elevation to Noah's heart. Could hear the way his own was thundering; pulse racing with nerves.

This was far too important to Derek; far too serious for him to fuck up. He wanted Noah to like him. It was more than the fact that he liked and respected Noah, too. It was that Noah was the only family Stiles had left. It was that Stiles loved his father, more than anything else, and he couldn't imagine how things could ever work out between them if Noah didn't approve. Because Stiles valued Noah's opinion, and Noah would never lie or pretend to like someone. He might not interfere - might let Stiles make his own choices and his own mistakes - but he'd never fake approval or fondness, no matter how his son felt about someone.

So it was absolutely crucial that Noah give his blessing.

"Son..." Noah sounded weary, but also amused. "I'm only going to offer you this out the one time, so please consider it. We absolutely _do not_ have to talk about this. Not today, not tomorrow, not _ever."_

And okay, that was actually a really great offer. But Derek couldn't shake the fear he had, that Noah might think less of him for taking the out. Or worse, that Noah might assume Derek really _had_ touched Stiles and think badly of him for it. It wasn't a risk Derek could take.

"I appreciate the offer, but I...I need to be clear about this. Please." Derek was shaking a little, because he _really_ didn't want to be having this conversation. But it was too important to back down on. "I know he's only seventeen, sir. And I want you to know that...that despite what he said earlier, and what it implied, I haven't touched him. I haven't even _kissed_ him."

"Well." Noah sounded very amused now; deeply so, in fact. "I'm going to be honest with you, son, because you're being so honest with me. Alright?"

"Okay." Derek agreed.

Noah chuckled, tapping his empty beer bottle against his leg as he spoke. "Stiles was a precocious child. He talked early, and walked early, and did damned near everything early. He declared himself in love with Lydia Martin when he was seven, and nothing anyone said could change his mind. Kid made his choice and he stuck with it, right up until the moment he _couldn't_ anymore. Once he got to know her, as a person, he had to give up on what he'd decided he was in love with in favor of liking who she actually was, as a friend. Hardest damned thing I ever saw him do, actually.

"Because my son? He doesn't let anyone dictate to him." And now Noah's amusement was tinged with a fond sort of exasperation that Derek was oddly familiar with, when it came to Stiles. "So when he became friends with drag queens and started going to Jungle and made it clear he liked men too, I just shrugged because I knew I couldn't stop him. Just like I knew I'd never drag him away from the supernatural.

“Not because anything had sunk claws into him, mind you.” Noah rolled his eyes. “No, just because he'd dug _his_ nails and teeth into _it,_ and that was that. So you see, when my son does something, I have no doubt in my mind that - whatever it is - it's something Stiles _wants_ to be doing."

Derek just stared at the Sheriff for several heartbeats' time, not speaking. Finally Noah said. "Son, what I'm saying is this. If you and Stiles have sex, I will be one hundred percent positive that it was Stiles who instigated it. I don't doubt he's driving you nuts, trying to get you to reconsider waiting until he's turned eighteen, and I'm very impressed you haven't given in yet. Boy's pretty damned convincing when he wants to be, after all."

Derek swallowed hard, then asked hoarsely. "Sir, are you saying you don't mind if I have sex with your _underage_ son? Because I sort of expected you to arrest me for even _thinking_ about it, never mind _doing_ it."

And this time, the Sheriff laughed outright. "The fact that you'd even worry about that - about what I might think about it - is a big part of why I'm not worried." He shot Derek a fatherly sort of smile and added. "Look, if you manage to wait until he's eighteen, great. More power to you, for being so strong.

“But if you jump the gun by a couple of days, or weeks, or even the three short months he's got left...” Noah shrugged again. ”I'm not going to slap you in handcuffs over it. Because it's not like Stiles is magically going to be more mature just because a few more months go by. I trust him to make his own choices, and I trust you not to hurt him. So, as long as I don't walk in on it happening - because there are things a father doesn't need to see - I'm just going to say that, whatever Stiles gets up to in his personal life is _his_ business."

"Oh." Derek didn't know what else to say. He quickly swallowed down the rest of his whiskey, then admitted. "Can we...maybe not tell him you said that to me? Because he's kind of insanely tempting as it is, but he's at least _mostly_ respecting my refusal to touch him because he knows how worried I am about what you'll think. If he knows you've given your approval..."

"Fair enough." Noah said, grinning. "Stiles could stand to learn a little patience anyway. Make him wait as long as you can stand to. Speaking from personal experience - because Claudia, the little minx that she was, stubbornly made me wait until our wedding night - the longer you can hold off...well, it'll be worth it."

And on that very unusual note, Derek politely excused himself. Noah let him go, still laughing. But Derek figured his embarrassment was a small price to pay for the man's blessing, so he didn't bother getting upset over it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Christmas at the Hale house was a loud and raucous affair, which was actually unsurprising given how many people attended. Scott seemed to be avoiding him, but Derek didn't mind much. He wasn't quite ready to deal with the other alpha's issues with himself and Stiles. Heaven knew Derek had enough of his own, without adding anyone else’s to the mix.

It was also the first time Derek was seeing Cora, Isaac, and Allison all in the same place since _that_ whole thing had started. He found himself reluctantly intrigued by how it was playing out. Isaac and Cora were playful with each other, and affectionate, which of course Derek had seen on several occasions. Isaac was ridiculously solicitous of Allison - doting on her, almost - which Derek had _also_ seen his fair share of. But what Derek _hadn't_ seen before was how Cora interacted with the younger Argent. She was very aggressive, actually, which surprised him. For all of her gruff posturing, Cora tended to be exceedingly gentle with those she cared about. Instead, she kept looming into Allison's space and backing her against walls to scent her and such. Allison seemed to take it all in stride, basking in Isaac's tender care and flushing under Cora's fierce attention. It was an interesting dynamic, and Derek wondered if Cora had deliberately altered her approach to appeal to the side of Allison that Isaac's sweetness couldn't really satisfy.

Since the three of them seemed to be handling themselves - and their complicated relationship - with minimal fuss or drama, Derek opted to just leave them to it. If Isaac wanted back in Derek's pack, or if Allison wanted to jump ship and join him at last, they knew where to find him, after all. He'd made their welcome explicitly clear; it was up to them to do something about it, or not.

The rest of the two groups seemed to mingle almost seamlessly. Erica and Lydia were giggling together, like they'd been best friends forever as opposed to Lydia considering Erica beneath her for a large number of years. Boyd was talking to the twins - Ethan and Aiden - about workout regimes and lacrosse and...Derek wasn't even sure what else, actually. It wasn’t interesting enough to hold Derek’s attention.

Jackson and Danny were sitting companionably together on a loveseat, and if Derek hadn't been absolutely positive that Danny was in love with Ethan he'd have wondered if something was going on there. Although, as Derek glanced back at Allison being sandwiched between Isaac and Cora under some decoratively hung _plastic_ mistletoe, he wondered if maybe something _was_ going on. Wondered if Jackson and Ethan could agree to share, like Cora and Isaac had, or if Danny would be forced to choose. Had a brief thought that his beta might win out over the former-alpha if only because Danny had been Jackson's best friend for so long.

And then cursed himself for an overactive imagination as he watched Jackson's eyes linger on Malia's form when she walked by. Danny elbowed his friend and whispered something that made Jackson blush and look around nervously, like he was afraid he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. When he noticed Derek looking at him, the color drained from his face and he looked panicked.

"It's fine." Derek said and, though he was on the other side of the room, he knew Jackson had heard him. "She's coming along, slowly but surely. As long as you can be patient with her - can wait until she's ready - it's fine. And I won't let Peter kill you."

Jackson looked relieved and murmured a blushing reply. "Thanks. I can wait. She, uh...she's worth waiting for, I think."

Derek smiled and shook his head at the unexpectedly romantic answer, then wandered off to check on some of his other guests, including Stiles. He knew the teen and Noah were both somewhere in the house, and he wanted to make sure they were okay before he got swept along in host duties again. Derek had a newfound respect for his mom, who had hosted any number of huge parties - for pack, and any number of visitors - with a sort of grace and aplomb that made it seem easy. It was _not_ easy, and he hated how little time he’d gotten to spend with Stiles, so he was determined to steal a few minutes while he could.

Derek also wanted to ask if Stiles was spending the night at his place, or if Derek was going back to the Stilinski household instead. The answer would determine when Stiles got his final Christmas present from Derek, so it was _kind of_ important. Deciding to ask Noah, who would be less-likely to ask _why_ Derek was asking that, Derek resumed looking for the older man. He’d find Stiles afterwards.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles hummed happily as Derek climbed the stairs with him. He was warm and sleepy and he wasn't hurting because it was Christmas and he'd been surrounded by wolves all day and night who'd been all too happy to take his pain. Derek had made sure to take any lingering aches before he'd scooped the teen into his arms and headed up to bed. The last of his guests had either cleared out or headed up to their various rooms, depending on whether they'd wanted to go home for the night or not. Derek wasn't even a hundred percent on who was still in the house, but it didn't really matter. The upstairs rooms were all soundproofed, for good reason.

Stiles nuzzled into his throat and Derek growled softly in reply, though the sound was far from threatening. Stiles huffed out a laugh, even as Derek mounted the second staircase. Stiles lifted his head from Derek's shoulder and asked. "Where are we going? My room's on the second floor."

"I know." Technically, Stiles didn't _have_ a room at Hale house, but there _was_ a guest room he tended to use when he came over and that was almost the same thing. Derek went left at the top of the stairs, continuing up the hall until he reached the furthest door. "This is my room."

"Oh..." Stiles breathed the word, carefully reaching out and opening the door because Derek's hands were full. "I, uh...I've never been on this floor."

Which, of course, Derek knew. Almost no one had been up to the third floor. There were a total of sixteen bedrooms in the house, and half of them were on the second floor. Those were all about the same size, for equality's sake. There were also four bathrooms on the second floor, each one shared between two of the bedrooms and adjoining with both. Erica, Boyd, and Jackson all had bedrooms on the second floor, the boys sharing a bathroom while Erica had one to herself. The room Stiles used whenever he crashed at Hale house - and which he'd been using while staying with Derek the last two weeks - was on the second floor as well, as was the room that had once been Isaac's. Derek smiled a little to himself at the thought that the other boy might move back in at some point; he'd missed the first beta he'd made. Technically he’d bitten Jackson first, but that whole Kanima business had cocked things up for a while.

Cora and Malia's bedrooms were two of the six that were on the third floor, along with Derek and Peter's. Derek's room was the largest, and was more than double the size of the others in the house, in addition to having its own en-suite bathroom. The four bedrooms to the right of the stairs were the same size as the ones on the second floor, and paired off with bathrooms as well. The other room adjoined with Peter's bathroom was currently unoccupied, and Derek imagined it would stay that way unless every other room in the house was already full when someone new moved in. Cora and Malia shared a bathroom, and the cousins seemed to get along well enough that there wasn't any fighting over shower-times or counter space, which Derek considered a blessing.

The other room on Derek's side of the floor wasn't _quite_ as big as the master bedroom, but it was still larger than the others in the house and had its own bathroom. There was also a staircase nestled into Derek's side that led up to the fourth floor, which held two more - larger - bedrooms and a bathroom. Those two bedrooms and the one beside Derek's were all intended for children. It was best to have them close to the alpha while they were still young, for safety's sake. If the house were ever attacked, the children were on the highest floors and near the alpha and their mate, which meant the attackers would have to go through everyone else to reach them.

Each of the - currently unoccupied - kids' rooms _and_ Derek's room had secret passageways with narrow, winding staircases that led down to the basement and the escape tunnels he'd renovated and rearranged and added-to during the rebuild. Derek couldn't - _wouldn’t_ \- run the risk that Kate had passed on the original designs to other hunters, after all. That wasn't the only change he'd made, for safety's sake, of course; Derek had learned from everyone they'd ever found themselves up against and adjusted the house's security accordingly. No one and nothing would hurt his pack; not if he could help it.

Derek wasn't sure any of the betas who weren't Hales had ever been above the second floor, and he honestly didn't know if anyone other than Cora and Peter knew that three of the bedrooms were designated for the pack's eventual children. He imagined he'd have to explain it all to Stiles at some point, but that was a concern for a later date. For the moment, he simply enjoyed the sight of Stiles on his bed, taking in the rest of the room with a bit of awe. Even Derek, who had grown up in the Hale house, whose design he’d copied to a large degree, had to admit that the master bedroom was impressive.

The bed Stiles was lying on was _enormous._ Derek had custom-ordered the mattress to fit the frame,which he'd built himself. It was designed to fit eight grown men without them touching, which meant it could easily hold Derek's entire pack. Even if the pack doubled in size they would probably all still fit, because they tended to snuggle into each other. It was meant for when a pack member was badly hurt, so everyone could lend comfort and strength while they healed. Thankfully, they hadn't had to use it for that yet. But the alpha's bed was always big enough to hold at least _most_ of the pack, all at once, and Derek had happily continued that tradition.

"How many people do you plan on having sleep in here?" Stiles asked, sounding amused. "Or do you, like, move around a lot in your sleep? Will you fall off if you sleep on a regular-sized bed? I don't remember hearing you fall out of the guest bed at my house..."

"It's meant to hold most of the pack at once." Derek explained, kicking off his shoes.

Stiles tipped his head to the side, watching avidly as Derek stripped off everything but his boxer-briefs before joining Stiles on the bed. "We heal better surrounded by pack, especially from bigger wounds or injuries we sustain from another pack's alpha." Derek offered the information up because Stiles seemed curious, and because he'd eventually need to know that sort of thing anyway. "Alphas' beds are always sized this way. I didn't see any reason not to follow that tradition."

"Mmmm." Stiles hummed quietly in agreement, seeming a little distracted by the fact that Derek was nearly naked beside him. "I'd imagine a bed this size comes in handy for other things, as well."

"I wouldn't know." Derek said, shrugging slightly. "I mean, my parents had five of us and were obviously passionately in love so I'm sure they were having sex, but I don't actually have any first-hand experience with a bed this size. I never use it for anything but sleeping."

Stiles blinked slowly at Derek, as though he were having trouble processing that information. Or maybe he was having trouble understanding why Derek had started slowly stripping him, taking extra care with Stiles' injured leg as he dragged the teen's loose track pants down. "You mean you never brought anyone back here? Was that for like...wolfy reasons? Or...?"

When Stiles trailed off questioningly, Derek answered without hesitation. "I mean that, since the day I met you in the woods, I haven't had sex with anyone. There would've been no point. _You_ were the only one I wanted, and I couldn't have you yet, so I waited."

"Wh-...bu-...I wa-..." Stiles seemed to flounder for a moment, before he said. "Derek, you've known me for _two years._ You're telling me that, in two years, you haven't had sex? _Not once?_ That's crazy! We weren't together. You could have...I mean, you _have_ to know I would have understood, right? I wouldn't have held it against you or anything."

"I never thought you would." Derek slowly pushed Stiles' shirt up, and the teen silently raised his arms to make it easier. Those wide, tawny eyes were staring up at Derek, full lips parted and slightly damp; he looked completely perfect and Derek took a few seconds to admire him. "It wasn't a hardship or anything. I didn't have much interest in sex, after the fire."

_After Kate._

It was left unsaid, but Derek knew Stiles knew what he meant. "I think I had sex a total of ten times, when Laura and I were living in New York."

"Ten times. In _six years,_ you only had sex ten times?"

Stiles was gaping at Derek, who was a little distracted by Stiles' bare skin and hummed an agreement before shaking his head and correcting himself. "Uh, no, actually. ten times in, like...the last year and a half that we lived there. And four of those times were with one person, who I was sort-of dating for, I dunno, six months or so. That was right before Laura came back to Beacon Hills. I ended it before I followed her here."

Stiles face went soft and sympathetic, and he reached up to cup Derek's cheek in his palm. Derek nuzzled into the touch while Stiles spoke. "I'm _so_ sorry she hurt you. If I knew how, I'd bring her back to life just so I could kill her again. _Slowly,_ this time. Peter was in a rush, and I understand that, but I really, _really_ want to torture her for what she did to you."

Derek laughed, flashing red eyes at Stiles. "I love how bloodthirsty you are, when it comes to the ones you care about. An alpha's mate should always be that fierce; that protective. It's a good trait, because we'll have to make hard decisions about killing an enemy or letting them go, and I know you won't get soft about things. If the risk is too high for your liking, you'll do what has to be done."

"Damned right, I will." Stiles agreed. He suddenly gasped and shuddered as Derek laid one hand on his stomach, petting slightly. "Uh, not to complain here, big guy, because I am so _not complaining,_ believe me, but uh...whatcha doin' there?"

"Touching you." Derek leaned down, tucking his face into the crook of Stiles' neck. He used his nose to nudge Stiles' head back, then let his teeth scrape along the line of Stiles' jaw with a pleased hum. "And _tasting_ you."

"O-oh." Stiles' breath came out in a shaky sort of rush, even as his body went soft and pliant under Derek's touch. It was gratifying, that Stiles trusted him that much. "Okay, then. S-sounds good. I..."

Whatever else Stiles had been planning to say was cut off by Derek's mouth. He captured the teen's lower lip between his own, sucking and nipping lightly until Stiles was gasping into his mouth. Long, slender fingers slid into Derek's hair, tugging a little as Stiles pushed up into the kiss eagerly. Derek kept kissing Stiles for several minutes, savoring being able to taste his mate at last. The eager way Stiles sucked on Derek's tongue, and the lack of finesse when he chased it back into Derek's mouth with his own, were endearing and hotter than he'd expected. He loved that Stiles was trembling and responsive beneath him; loved that there was no doubt in his mind that Stiles wanted him just as much as he wanted Stiles.

Derek finally broke the kiss, dipping his head to nip teasingly at Stiles' throat even as he let his hand drift lower, tugging on the waistband of Stiles' boxers. They were dark green, with a pair of red-and-white striped candy canes crisscrossed at the front. "These are hideous." Derek murmured the words against Stiles' collarbone, tongue tracing it before he added. "I'm going to rip them off you now. Hold still so I don't accidentally cut you."

Seconds later, Derek's left hand was tipped with claws. As Stiles went stock-still beside him on the bed, it was clear he wasn’t even _breathing._ Derek used a couple of swift movements to shred the awful display of holiday festivity from the teen's body, smiling a little when Stiles relaxed and started breathing again the instant he was done. He let his eyes move over the newly exposed skin with heated approval. A low, rumbling growl built in his throat and Derek put his claws away in favor of dragging the tip of one finger slowly up the length of Stiles' cock.

It was an average thickness, and perhaps a little longer than most. It was pale, like the rest of Stiles' skin, and Derek was intrigued to see that Stiles' was circumcised. He didn't have much experience with men, and the few one-night stands he'd had in New York had either been with other wolves or - that one time - with a man from Germany; none of them had been cut. The head of Stiles' cock was flushed the same shade of deep pink as the teen's full lips, and as Derek's finger made a second pass up the length, a drop of precome beaded at the tip.

Stiles was panting now, making quiet little mewling sounds in the back of his throat every few seconds. It was so lovely, _so perfect,_ that Derek paused to drink the sight in. Stiles' flushed face and chest; the way his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with pleasure; the way his head was thrown back to expose the long line of his throat. Derek's eyes drifted lower, taking in the rapid fluttering of Stiles' pulse and the way his chest heaved with every breath. He made a mental note to map every inch of Stiles' skin with his mouth, determined to finally count every mole and freckle on him. As Derek let his eyes follow the thin line of hair leading down from Stiles' navel, his attention was caught by a mole that was settled in the curve of Stiles' hip, enticingly close to where that trail of hair thickened around the base of Stiles' cock.

Unable to resist, Derek ducked his head and pressed his lips to that small beauty mark. Stiles groaned, fingers clenching around the fabric of the blanket and twisting desperately. Derek grinned and set his teeth to the same spot, earning a choked-off moan. Raising his head a little, Derek flashed his eyes and growled. "Don't you _dare_ try to be quiet, Stiles. I want to hear you."

"F-fuck..." Stiles' squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering a little, before he looked back down at Derek and nodded. His eyes were glassy, his lips red and spit-slicked where he'd obviously been biting at them in an attempt to retain some measure of control. "Okay. Okay, Der. Just...please, don't stop. _Please..."_

Derek had no intention of stopping. He nudged his way between Stiles' slender thighs, taking care with Stiles' injury. He nudged Stiles' left leg up, bending it at the knee, and braced his shoulder under it. This let him rest his body parallel with Stiles' braced right leg, and as long as he didn't jostle the teen around too much he figured the position would be comfortable enough for Stiles. Once he was settled in, Derek lowered his head again. He nipped at the mole on Stiles' hip again, earning a sharp hiss in response. Grinning, he turned and nuzzled at the dark thatch of curls at the base of Stiles' cock, savoring the spicy, concentrated scent of his mate's arousal.

Stiles whined as Derek let his tongue dart out, moving in teasing little flicks along the length of his cock. Derek let his lips ghost along the hot, silky flesh; let his tongue lap lightly at the leaking slit. He pressed his lips in a soft kiss to the flushed head before slowly parting them further and letting it slip into his mouth. Stiles was thrashing beneath him, and Derek used a strong grip on his slim hips to hold him still, being extra-careful with Stiles' right leg.

This was something Derek hadn't done very often - less-often than his already infrequent encounters with men at all - but he found himself enjoying it. He loved the scent of Stiles, heady and concentrated and _right there._ He loved the taste of Stiles leaking onto his tongue, saturating his tastebuds with _bitter_ and _salty_ and _sharp_ in a way that shouldn't have been pleasant, but was. He loved the way Stiles' hands had shifted from the bed covers to Derek's hair. His grip was strong and sure as he keened and did his best to buck up into Derek's mouth, despite the way Derek had his hips pinned down. He loved how he could see and hear and _feel_ Stiles falling apart under him.

It didn't take long - five minutes, or maybe ten, if Derek had to guess - for Stiles to start babbling nonsense and yanking sharply on Derek's hair. He was pretty sure he knew what that meant, so Derek lifted his head and used one hand to continue stroking Stiles’ spit-slick cock. He didn't move far; stayed close enough to keep darting little kitten licks across the head, catching the little beads of slick as they formed. A handful of licks and a dozen or so strokes was all it took before Stiles - hands once again trying to claw the blankets apart - spilled himself over Derek's fist.

He was every bit as beautiful during orgasm as Derek had thought he would be.

His fair skin flushed darkly, chest heaving as he tried desperately to catch his breath, mouth swollen and red and slack with pleasure. His amber eyes were dazed and sleepy and sated, every muscle in his body trembling with aftershocks. Derek licked his hand clean while his eyes drank in the sight of an undone Stiles, then he gently used his tongue to clean Stiles' cock and belly. The teen whined a little in protest, clearly over-sensitive, but Derek was quick enough about it that it wasn't really a problem. Then, Derek pushed himself up to his knees and shoved his own underwear down, out of his way. He licked his palm messily, then wrapped it around his cock, stroking himself slowly.

Stiles' eyes had closed, but Derek didn't hesitate to correct that. "Thought you wanted to watch me next time." And there was a teasing note to his words, despite the rumble that desire put into his voice. "Changed your mind?"

"Wha...?" Stiles cracked one eye, then sucked in a sharp breath as both eyes flew open. "Oh my _god,_ you're touching yourself. _Holy fuck;_ that's _so_ hot."

Stiles sounded breathless and amazed and Derek couldn't help the way his grin was a little toothier than it normally would have been. He stroked a little faster, though he had to loosen his grip to accommodate the claws he was now sporting. It wasn't the first time he'd jerked off with a partial-shift; as a teenager, masturbation had resulted in a beta-shift _most_ of the time until he'd finally learned a little control. His vision had gone red-tinged, and his face was tingling a little where it had changed. He flicked his ears a little, drinking in the soft, pleased sounds Stiles was making while watching him.

It didn't take Derek much longer to finish, and he might have been embarrassed if it had been anyone _other_ than his mate spread out beneath him, sated and warm and _oh-so-real_ after far too long spent alone. He watched as his come streaked Stiles' belly and chest, then carefully collapsed on the bed beside him, to Stiles' left so as not to jostle his injury. It took Derek a minute to catch his breath and shake off the shift, but he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed about that, either.

When he'd gotten control of himself, Derek turned to look at the teen, intending to offer Stiles' something to clean up with. He couldn't help growling when he saw that it wasn't necessary.

Stiles had run his hand through the sticky-wet mess, rubbing some of it into his skin and catching most of the rest of it on his fingers. As Derek watched, he brought those long fingers up to his lips and darted his tongue out, tasting Derek's release with a soft moan. Derek growled again and lunged forward, bare inches and Stiles’ hand the only things between their mouths. He let his tongue dart out as well, helping Stiles lick his hand clean before capturing that sinful mouth with his own for a deep, drugging kiss.

When he finally drew back, Stiles murmured. "That was surprisingly kinky for my first time with another person." A slow, wicked grin curved his mouth and he added. "I can't wait to do it again."

Derek smirked back, leaning down to brush his lips lightly over Stiles' forehead. "We'll see. That was a special little taste; a Christmas present. I'll have to decide if you deserve anything else before your birthday."

The teen hummed thoughtfully, then asked. “You sure it was a Christmas present for me, and not a birthday present _for you?_ I mean, I’m cool with it either way, I’m just saying.”

And Derek’s mouth fell open in shock, because Peter had wished him a quiet _Happy Birthday_ \- out of earshot of everyone else - and Cora had mumbled it against his cheek when she’d kissed him goodnight a short while earlier, but no one else had been aware. At least, Derek hadn’t _thought_ anyone else knew his birthday. He hadn’t celebrated since the fire - refusing all of Laura’s early attempts to do so, until she’d finally given up on it - and he’d had no intention of changing that. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised that Stiles knew it; Stiles seemed to hoard information like a dragon with treasure. Still...

“If it _was_ a birthday present to myself, I should definitely wait until _your_ birthday before doing anything like it again, wouldn’t you agree?” Because Stiles’ smug grin was just a _little_ too much, and Derek didn’t see any reason not to make him suffer for it.

Stiles just laughed, turning onto his good side so he could curl himself against Derek's body. "I’m not worried at all, Sourwolf. You’ll give in. Now that you've had a taste of me, you won't be able to resist."

Derek had a feeling Stiles was _very_ right about that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles' recovery went remarkably quickly after Christmas. Within a few weeks, he'd gained enough strength back in his leg that he forewent the wheelchair altogether. Even at school, the crutches were all he needed. Derek kept resisting the urge to claim Stiles fully, because despite his progress he was _still injured,_ though the teen had been annoyingly accurate when he'd claimed Derek wouldn't be able to resist him entirely. Derek could usually control himself for a few days before he'd give in to the urge to put his hands and mouth all over his mate again. Stiles had even managed to get those sinfully long fingers around Derek's cock a few times, though Derek usually just took care of himself while Stiles watched.

When Noah deemed Stiles capable of driving himself to and from school, Derek reluctantly moved back into his own house. He hated being apart from Stiles; had grown used to the constant sound of his heartbeat and breathing, and the way his scent was everywhere. It wasn't long before he found himself slipping in Stiles' window halfway through the night, nearly every night, just to be near him. The third time Noah found Derek curled up on Stiles' floor, sound asleep - he refused to squeeze into Stiles’ small bed for fear of hurting his leg - he rolled his eyes and told Derek to just stay in the guest room until Stiles graduated. He wasn't ready to part with his son before then; had always expected that to be the time period he was working with, when Stiles would move out for college and start his own life. He would surrender him to Derek then, and not a day sooner.

Derek, for his part, was gratified beyond words when Stiles announced he'd be taking criminology courses at U.C. Irvine, which was only a few hours from Beacon Hills. It would be no trouble at all for him to come home most weekends, or for Derek to drive there for a mid-week visit if he was missing his mate. Derek had thanked Stiles with three orgasms that night, one after the other, leaving Stiles a trembling mess of satisfaction and incoherency. Derek had mostly been smug, which Stiles had hit him for the next morning when he'd regained feeling in his fingers and toes.

When Stiles finally got the brace off - on February eighteenth - and started physical therapy just two days later, Derek went to every appointment. He massaged Stiles' thigh and calf muscles, doing everything he could to help prevent cramps as the teen got used to being on his feet again, _without_ assistance. Thankfully, the brace had done a lot of the early work for him; supporting the leg as Stiles slowly gained some strength back in it. True, he had to do a bunch of special exercises once the brace was off and he definitely wasn't fighting-fit right away, but he was getting there. Steadily, a little better and a little stronger every day, Stiles was getting there. Derek had no doubt it would be no time at all before he found himself tasked with dragging Stiles out of the middle of a supernatural fight again.

Of course, that meant it was time to start having serious discussions. Especially since Stiles' birthday was creeping ever-closer. And still, Derek put it off, again and again. Just as he put off progressing things physically between them. He wouldn't risk having penetrative sex with Stiles until he was sure he could claim him, because he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to stop himself. And he wasn't going to claim Stiles until he was certain Stiles understood what it meant and agreed to all of it.

Which, incidentally, led right back to the conversation Derek was putting off. It was one hell of a vicious circle and, as most things do, it inevitably came to a head.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Happy birthday to me-eee..." Stiles sang as he let himself into the Hale house, at the very beginning of April. He was flushed with happiness as he set a dufflebag on the bottom stair and hung up his hoodie.

Derek walked out from the direction of the kitchen, having heard the jeep pull up and Stiles coming into the house, though at first he’d been sure he was imagining things. "Shouldn't you be at school?" Because it was 9am on a Monday, and it was definitely not Spring Break. He'd have a houseful of betas if that was the case.

"It's my _birthday,_ Derek. Dad _never_ makes me go in on my birthday." Stiles grinned cheekily, walking up to the alpha and winding his arms around the man's neck before brushing their mouths lightly together. "Hey there, big guy. So, guess what?"

"What?" Derek asked, barely refraining from the urge to roll his eyes, though he did settle his hands on Stiles' waist and take some of the teen's weight, always pleased to feel his mate against him.

Stiles leaned forward, putting his mouth right next to Derek's ear, and whispered. "I'm eighteen. Which means I am _completely_ legal." Leaning back again, still grinning, Stiles waggled his eyebrows and added. "Ergo, we can now do actual in-the-butt stuff, according to your ridiculous rules. So, chop-chop, Sourwolf. Start stripping."

"First off, you are the _least_ romantic or smooth person I have ever met." Derek's voice was flat, and the worst part was, he wasn't forcing it. "Second off, I have more reasons than just your age for not letting things progress to penetrative sex. Third off...no. Just _no."_

"But...but, I..." Stiles stammered for a moment, clearly realizing that this wasn't Derek teasing or joking with him; that the alpha was serious. "What _reasons?"_ And yeah, okay; Stiles' voice was more than a little shrill and Derek winced at it. It wasn't anger, but it wasn't far off from it, either.

The thing was, Derek didn't know if he was ready to do this; to have _this_ conversation. Because if Stiles decided this wasn't what he wanted...that was it. Still, it had to be done eventually, so...

Taking a slow, fortifying breath, Derek asked softly. "Do you have that list? The one I asked you to make when you were hurt. The one about..."

"About alpha mate duties?" Stiles raised both eyebrows, but nodded towards the stairs. "Uh, yeah? It's on my laptop, which is in my bag. Why?"

"Take it upstairs, to our room." Derek was tense all over; felt twitchy with the need to shift and run or, better yet, to just _claim_ Stiles, consequences be damned. Instead, he said. "I have to clean up the kitchen - put a few things away so they don’t spoil - and then I'll join you. We can talk about this, and then...well, then we'll see where we are."

Looking uncertain, Stiles grabbed his bag and mounted the stairs. Derek watched him go for a moment before he headed back to clean up the kitchen. It didn't take him long. He'd been halfway through cleaning up his betas' breakfast mess when Stiles had shown up. It wasn't ideal, but it _did_ give him a few minutes to breathe and compose himself, anyway. Gave him a few minutes to prepare himself for the possibility that, in just a short while, he might lose Stiles entirely. His wolf howled and snarled, desperate to prevent that from happening, but Derek knew it wasn't up to him. It was Stiles’ choice to make.

Finally, knowing he couldn't stall any longer, he headed up the stairs to join Stiles. When he pushed open the bedroom door, Stiles was laying on his stomach on the bed. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and black boxers that Derek was pretty sure had a Batman logo on the crotch, and nothing else. Derek sighed and joined the teen on the massive bed, sitting cross-legged beside him. He was only wearing sweatpants and a guinea tee himself, as he'd been planning to go on a run after he cleaned up the kitchen, so it wasn't uncomfortable. Stiles' laptop was open on the bed in front of him, a neatly bullet-pointed list open on the page.

"So, I sort of guessed at some of these based on my research, and others I asked around for." Stiles admitted, talking almost the second Derek was settled beside him. “Cora didn’t remember much, and fuck knows Peter’s unreliable, and I don’t trust Deaton as far as I can throw him, but...I didn’t have a lot of options. Danny’s parents were actually sort of helpful, though, so I’m glad I thought to ask _him.”_

Derek took the computer when Stiles nudged it at him, and started reading the list. It was...accurate. Not perfectly, of course, but pretty damned near. Stiles had done well, though the list was written with his usual flair. In fact, it was clearly written as a way to keep track of things, complete with reminders to himself and, on occasion, questions.

_\- Stay safe. I am my alpha’s anchor; I cannot put myself in danger._  
_\- Protect my pack. Firstly by protecting myself, and by protecting any pack-children. Also, by making decisions with my alpha regarding pack hierarchy, territory disputes, alliances, etc._  
_\- Children - the care of pack-children falls to the alpha-mate. Though parents will handle the daily parenting tasks, I’ll be responsible for most purchases related to kids. Discipline falls to my alpha._  
_\- When my alpha is training his betas, all children too young to train will be left in my care. The same can be said for when betas are at work, with children too young/out-of-control for school. Unless something is arranged allowing for this duty to be fulfilled by someone else, when children are present in the pack, the alpha-mate does not work outside the home._  
_\- Do the betas count as kids? Should I give them an allowance? Can I ground them? Erica needs a good grounding. Is grounding discipline? It’s probably discipline. Ask my apha to ground Erica for me._  
_\- Care of the home falls to the alpha-mate; my alpha provides financially and I ‘make the den’ - grocery shopping, household purchases, repairs, ensuring bill payments go out on time, etc. I‘ve been doing this for Dad for years; I will rock this shit._  
_\- Household chores are to be delegated out so that all members of the pack who reside in the pack-home (which will be most, if not all, excluding things like college) are contributing; the alpha-mate is responsible for this delegation. If a member isn’t contributing, tell my alpha so he can discipline accordingly._  
_\- Memorize the hierarchy of all allied packs; be aware if it changes; do not fuck this up when meeting them as a mistake can cause a fight._  
_\- Probably best to memorize the hierarchy for every pack. Just in case._  
_\- Diplomatic relations - arranging meetings for proposed alliances, maintaining existing alliances, negotiating safe travel across others’ territories, inter-pack marriages, fostering of orphaned/unwanted children, etc. - fall to the alpha-mate. I cannot be snarky, or sarcastic, or unfocused during these things; I have to do what’s best for my pack._  
_\- Keep up on all of the pack-gossip from nearby packs; network with local supernatural creatures; arrange meetings, summits, conventions, etc. to allow for a steady flow of information. The alpha-mate must foster close enough relations with others to ensure the pack is never uninformed or out of the loop; this is how threats are identified early. Knowledge is power._  
_\- Maintain control of my alpha. This is crucial, especially if I am ever threatened/endangered. I am my alpha’s anchor; I need to remind him of this if he ever forgets or starts to lose control. My biggest responsibility is to keep my pack safe, and if my alpha goes feral the hunters will come._  
_\- Learn to access my alpha’s powers. Once my alpha has claimed me, I will need to learn how to tap into the accelerated healing, speed, strength, and bite-to-change powers; these could be the difference between life and death, for me and my pack. Mastering these abilities is high-priority._  
_\- Expand the pack. It’s my responsibility to provide my alpha with a family; to give him children. I’m a little unclear on it all, but apparently there’s some magic I can do to make this happen. College first, then babies for my alpha. I can handle being pregnant._  
_\- Love my alpha. Hurting my alpha will destroy him and my pack. Never leave; never be unfaithful; never betray him. Understand that this is not like marriage; there is no divorce for werewolves. Accept the commitment. Love him **forever.** Tell him this every day. Make sure he believes it._

Derek looked up from the computer screen and asked softly. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” Stiles asked, tipping his head to one side. “Do I understand how permanent what you’re asking me for is? Yeah, I understand. Do I accept the commitment involved? Of course I do.” He paused, then asked quietly. “Do I love you?”

Derek nodded, and Stiles’ lips curved up in a soft smile. “I love you, Derek Hale. I’ve loved you for a while. I can’t imagine _not_ loving you.” His smile turned sly - teasing - and he added. “If I didn’t love you, do you think I’d even _consider_ being pregnant for you? Silly Sourwolf.”

Derek could feel himself blushing; could feel how red his ears and face were. But Stiles had been honest, and Derek owed him the same. “You don’t have to be.”

Stiles glanced over at Derek - he’d been looking at the computer; saving the list and closing it out - and frowned. “I don’t have to be what?”

“Pregnant.” Derek explained, though his voice was weak; the words trying to stick to his tongue. “I mean, I want kids, but _you_ don’t have to carry them.”

“Well, yeah, I know.” Stiles was still frowning, though he seemed more confused than anything else. “But if we use a surrogate, they’ll only be biologically one of ours. And while I’m all for adopting - there’s got to be kids out there who need to be taken in after hunter attacks or territory disputes or whatever - I want some that are _ours,_ too, you know? I want them to have my nose and your eyes and like...be this precious little mix of _us.”_

“I want that, too.” Derek assured him, watching as Stiles closed the laptop and leaned over the edge of the bed to set it on the floor. When he popped back up to lie on the mattress, Derek added. “What I meant was, _you_ don’t have to carry, if you mind at all. Because I wouldn’t. Mind. Carrying, I mean.”

Stiles simply stared at Derek for several long minutes, blinking slowly as though trying to process what Derek had just said to him. Derek let him have the time; knew he’d just dropped a hell of a bomb on the teen. In more ways than one, if Stiles thought about it hard enough. Derek had a feeling he would. So he sat in silence, putting out one claw to trace absentminded patterns on the blanket near his right knee. He wondered what Stiles would say; how he would react to what Derek was offering. Not just carrying a child - or children - for them, but all that that implied.

Stiles’ fingers tucked under Derek’s chin, tipping his face up. “You’d do that?” He asked, sounding awed. “Not the carrying thing, but...I mean, with me? You’d trust me to...”

“I don’t just trust you to, Stiles. I _want_ you to.” Derek admitted, and he’d have dropped his head down again if Stiles’ fingers weren’t keeping him in place. “It...it’ll change where I place the mate-bite. Is that okay?”

Stiles dragged a hand across the nape of his neck. “So not here...” He let his hand slide down, to where his neck and shoulder met. “Here, then?”

Derek bit his lip, then admitted. “If we’re face-to-face. If...if you take me the way I’d normally be expected to take you, though, then...your wrist.”

Stiles’ eyes moved over his face, studying him intently for a moment before he asked. “Do you want that, Der? You want me to mount you? Take you from behind?” His voice was low and husky and Derek couldn't help whining at what he was saying, which seemed to have an intense effect on Stiles as well. “Fuck...okay, yeah. We can do that. I can...I can do that. I just...I’ve never done this before, obviously, so if I suck at it, I’m sorry in advance.”

“It’ll be fine.” Derek laughed, Stiles’ babble putting him immediately at ease. He didn’t need to be embarrassed with Stiles; didn’t need to be afraid that Stiles wouldn’t understand what he wanted or needed. Stiles loved him, and understood him in ways no one else ever had. _Of course_ he would understand this as well. “I love you, and I’m still adjusting to being touched regularly, and I _really like_ being fucked. So, as long as you can last a couple of minutes, we should be good.”

Stiles huffed in mock-offense. “I can last more than _a couple of minutes,_ thanks.” When Derek grinned and ducked his head again, Stiles cupped Derek’s cheek in his hand and brought him back up for a kiss.

For several minutes, they got lost in the slide of lips and tongues; in exploring each other and being explored; in the taste and feel of each other’s mouths. When they broke apart, Derek asked. “Do you want to do this now? I don’t mind waiting to do the claim until you’re ready, Stiles, but if we...I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist, once you’re inside me.”

“I don’t want to wait.” Stiles kissed him again, quick and fierce. “I love you. I’ll love you tomorrow, and next year, and when we’re old and gray and having gross, wrinkly, old-people sex. So fuck it, okay? I don’t care if it’s fast, or if people think we’re too impulsive. You’re my alpha, and I’m your mate. I say we make it official.”

Derek couldn't have agreed more.

~*~*~*~*~*~

**  
**  
Epilogue  


Stiles burst into the Hale house like a whirlwind. “Where is he?” He demanded, and he knew his eyes were glowing red but he couldn't quite muster the control to stop the power-transfer from happening. Not now; not when the only thought in his head was getting to Derek; to his alpha.

“Stiles...” Scott was using his _calm down _voice, and Stiles did _not_ appreciate it. He bared borrowed fangs, and Scott held up his hands in a placating gesture. “They’re holding him in the old distillery. We’ve got a plan to get him out, okay? You didn’t need to rush back here. Everything’s under control.”__

__“Under control?” Stiles’ voice had gone deathly quiet; it was iced over with cold fury. “Some psycho hunters have _my alpha_ and you call that _under control?”__ _

__Cora placed her hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and though he growled a little he made no move to shake her off. “I know you’re upset.” She kept her voice pitched low; soothing. “We are, too. But we have a plan. We’d already have him back, but they’ve ringed the place in mountain ash and we need one of the humans to break it. Your dad gets off his shift in another hour. We’ll get him back soon, okay?”_ _

__“No. We’ll get him back _now.”_ This time, Stiles _did_ shake off her touch. “I’ll break the damned barrier myself. I want everyone ready to go in five minutes.”_ _

__Peter spoke next, tone chiding. “Now, Stiles, you know you’re not supposed to go throwing yourself into danger. If anything happens to you...”_ _

__Stiles growled at Peter and flashed his eyes red again. “I know my place in this pack, Peter, and my duties. Don’t presume to tell me otherwise. I’ll break the barrier, you lot will take out the hunters, and I will retrieve my alpha when it’s safe. Am I making myself clear?”_ _

__Knowing they had no choice, everyone agreed._ _

____

~*~*~*~*~*~

In all honesty, it was one of their smoother rescues. Between the handful of Hale betas who were already back from college - mostly those who’d attended ones nearby, making it a rather speedy process to pack up after graduation and head home - and the members of Scott’s pack who were present as well, it didn’t take long after Stiles broke the mountain ash line for them to take the hunters out. As soon as Scott gave the all-clear, Stiles was rushing into the distillery. He was at Derek’s side seconds later, kneeling in front of the alpha and cutting through the ropes binding him to a spindly wooden chair. As soon as Derek was free, Stiles’ hands were running over his body, slipping under clothes whenever possible, desperately checking for injuries.

“Hey, hey...” Derek soothed, capturing Stiles’ wrists and squeezing tightly before bringing Stiles’ hands up so he could kiss the back of each one. “I’m fine, okay? _We_ are fine. Everything’s good. You guys got here fast, and they had no intention of hurting me. Not yet, anyway.”

“Why did they even take you?” Stiles demanded, eyes wide and panicked. “What did they want? Are there more of them? We need to know everything.”

“They wanted Abby.” Derek admitted, though the look on his face made it clear that he knew how Stiles would respond to that. “Stiles, it’s okay. They’re not going to get her, okay? We’re safe. Everyone is safe. It was my own fault for going on my evening run alone. I’ll be more careful.”

Stiles sighed, dropping his forehead down to rest against the curve of Derek’s belly. “I was so scared they’d hurt you two...” He pressed his lips there, just below Derek’s bellybutton, nuzzling softly. “God, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. _Either_ of you.”

Derek tugged on Stiles’ hair until the twenty-two year old shifted up enough for him to kiss. When they broke apart, Derek vowed. “You’ll _never_ have to find out. We’re going to grow old together, remember? The day we mated, you promised me gross, wrinkly, old-people sex. I’m holding you to that, if it takes fifty years.”

Stiles huffed out a quiet laugh against Derek’s mouth. “Alright, Sourwolf. I hear you.” He stood, then helped Derek to his feet and said. “Let’s get you back to the house, okay? You’re due in a few weeks, and you should be resting. I can’t believe you were going to go running last night!”

“I run every day, and it’s fine.” Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles as he led the way through the Preserve, towards their home. The others would finish handling the hunters; Derek just wanted to curl up with his mate for a nap. And maybe some food. “Don’t get all overprotective on me, now.”

They fell silent as they tromped through the woods. Stiles didn’t speak again until they were both cleaned up, in comfy pajamas, curled up together on their enormous bed. “I can’t help it.” He admitted. “It’s been four years, and I’m still terrified sometimes that this is all a dream. That I’ll wake up and you won’t belong to me anymore.”

“We’re yours.” Derek promised, settling comfortably into his little-spoon position. He rested his hand on top of Stiles’ on his belly, smiling wider when their daughter kicked out at them. She was strong, and Derek was pretty sure she was going to be a wolf. “We aren’t going anywhere. In a few more weeks, we’ll be holding Abby and everything’s going to be chaotic but wonderful.”

Stiles sighed and pressed his lips to the back of Derek’s neck, where a mating-bite scar rested. He and Derek had been mated for four months when Stiles had accidentally tapped into Derek’s powers for the first time - during sex, of course - and left the mark with his blunt, human teeth. Derek didn’t mind. In fact, he tended to preen whenever someone pointed it out. On Stiles’ left wrist was a perfect imprint of Derek’s fangs; teeth that went deep enough to have turned Stiles, if the intent had been there, but it wasn’t. Instead, Derek had simply claimed Stiles for his own; for forever.

As Derek closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he thought back to that night when he’d been mowing down sprites in the Camaro. And Derek Hale, Alpha of Beacon Hills, sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity or higher power had taken mercy on him that day and put Stiles directly in the path of his car. He’d never have guessed that a broken leg would lead to his very own happy ending, but he was grateful for it anyway.

Stiles, for his part, felt much the same. And if he had to make the choice and do that night all over again, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. Derek, and their pack, and their unborn daughter were worth every painful second of that broken leg. They were worth _everything._

_**~ The End ~** _

be


End file.
